


Child Bride

by Teland



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Humor, Background Relationships, Bad Parenting, Clark Is The Biggest Pervert In Parsecs, F/M, First Time, Happy Ending, Light BDSM, M/M, Magic, NO ONE DIES DAMNIT, No Really More Than Usual, Romance, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-29 04:47:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 82,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18218420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/pseuds/Teland
Summary: Some aliens probably shouldn't be allowed anywhere near where children congregate. I'm just saying.





	1. At the fair.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mildred Milton](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Mildred+Milton).



> I started this story mumbledy years ago, telling myself it was a gift for Mildred Milton, but, you know, *really* meaning it as a gift for my inner -- and outer, and sideways -- Clark-loving sleaze. I wrote the *vast* majority of it back then, and Mildred tried hard to convince me that all I had to do was end the thing and post, but... I couldn't see that. At *all*. 
> 
> There were about sixteen million dangling threads in my head, and I wanted to weave a 300k *tapestry*. That -- is not in the cards. *snort* This story is complete as it stands. The dangling threads? Don't actually dangle, to my mumbledy-years-later eyes. Sorry, Mildred -- you were so right.
> 
> Additionally, this is yet another story that absolutely *should* be read as a sequel to [Back to life](https://archiveofourown.org/works/892327). I don't think it's hugely necessary to read that one first, but I'm so steeped in my own headcanon at this point that I honestly can't tell. What I *do* know is that it *could* help the uninitiated see where I'm coming from in terms of my Clark characterization.

Superman isn't allowed to work in Gotham. Clark Kent, however, occasionally irritates Perry *just* enough that he gets seconded to the business beat -- which leads to a great deal of travel and, occasionally, the opportunity to throw everything aside -- 

Bruce was good enough to 'forget' his appointment with Clark Kent in favor of the company of a socialite who may or may *not* exist -- 

The Wayne Foundation throws wonderful parties for children. 

This one has clowns, and cotton candy machines, and four different exceedingly cheerful bands, and picnic foods of very high quality -- the corn, at least, is organic -- and face-painters, and acrobats -- 

It's a wonderful party, and the sort of thing Clark Kent doesn't get nearly enough opportunities to eat up with a spoon. Still, nearly *all* the leading lights of the Gotham, New York City, and Philadelphia business worlds are attending with their families in tow -- whether they want to be or not -- and Perry will be more than pleased with an interview with Lucius Fox. 

Just as soon as Clark finishes his third bag of candied pecans. 

He wouldn't want his writing hand to be sticky. Also, there are actual mimes, and while Jay has confided that he'll never be able to see a mime *or* a clown without wanting to do something violent -- and Clark understands this very well -- Clark himself quite likes the art form. 

There's so much control needed for it, but an equal amount of whimsy is present in the best performers, and Clark will always be fond of people who enjoy their work. 

Well, except for -- 

Supervillains. 

Or... no. The masks on these criminals are quite good at hiding their faces from the average sort of person, but they *aren't* professionally made. More to the point, supervillains rarely bother with demanding cash and jewelry.

And -- 

It's daylight. 

It is, in fact, an incredibly *bright* July day. The sun won't set for at least another six hours. While the Batman has been known to work during the day -- 

While Dick had, truly, been made for that sort of thing -- 

Gotham is a darker, more frightening place than it was even a few years ago, and the truth is that Bruce is almost certainly -- 

Clark checks -- 

Yes, he's either meditating *deeply* or sleeping -- twelve miles away in Bristol. Jay is, if not beside him, then certainly quite close. Barbara is at the library seventy blocks away. *Dick* is in New *York* -- 

And there are exceptions to every rule. 

Clark changes and gathers the weapons -- utterly unsurprised to have to retrieve three handguns from the *guests*, as well, and really, this could've become *terrible* -- then gathers the criminals, as well, using rope from one of the tents which hadn't been set up yet to restrain them. 

When *that's* done -- 

There are approximately eighty-five children staring up at him with wide, shining eyes. The others haven't noticed him yet. 

And sometimes Superman *does* get to do this sort of thing. He just -- does. 

So: 

He flies the children around two at a time. 

He balances four children at a time on his arms and shoulders. 

He wins a stuffed elephant for the twin sisters who finally point out that he still has sugar on his upper lip. 

He pauses to give a statement to the police -- 

And then he seeks out the shyer children. Just -- 

He *was* one of them not so long ago. He knows how it feels. Some of them are shy because they find him frightening, which is sad, so he leaves them be with a rueful smile. *Others* -- 

"Oh! You found me!" 

Clark blinks at the boy who is, on closer examination, significantly older than most of the other children here. At least in his teens, if small. "Yes...? Was I not supposed to?" 

"Ah. Um." The boy blushes deeply -- but stands straight, and tucks an expensive-looking camera in the equally expensive-looking satchel over his arm. "Superman. I --" He breathes deeply. "Hello. I'm Tim Drake and -- thank you. For everything." 

Drake... Clark considers, and flips through his memories of the research he'd done for this trip as filtered through the amount of *money* on Tim's person -- "Your parents own Drake Industries?" 

Tim blinks. "Oh -- you know it? They'll be very happy about that." 

Clark smiles. "But you're not...?" 

Tim blushes, and seems deeply tempted to edge further into the shadows behind the big top -- several local acrobats will be performing later on. 

"It's all right. I just... I couldn't help notice you watching me --" 

"You -- you really must get that a lot. Especially from people with cameras." 

Indeed. And *this* person... is just over five feet tall, no more than one hundred ten pounds -- almost certainly *less* -- and... hmm. Wide, blue-grey eyes. A button nose. A lean body, rather than a skinny one. He can make himself seem quite small. 

Clark... smiles a little more honestly -- 

And Tim blinks again, just as if -- hmm. 

Clark offers his hand. 

"Oh -- all right. I -- well, I already introduced myself --" 

"It's good to meet you, Tim. It's only... it wasn't very long ago when I was the boy hiding behind corners." 

Another blush. "I wasn't -- well, no, I was. Ah -- sorry --" 

"You have nothing to apologize for --" 

"Tell that to -- ah. Never mind. Did you. Did you want to speak? About something?" 

'Something'. Well... Clark squeezes Tim's hand gently. "Would you tell me how old you are?" 

"Ah -- fourteen. I know I don't really look --" 

"You do, actually." 

Tim's expression is... rather nonplussed. 

Clark laughs softly and squeezes Tim's hand again -- 

And there are people watching them. 

"One moment." 

"Sure --" 

Clark moves them to a currently unused part of the fairgrounds -- the trailers throw deep shadows for July, and there's only so much Superman can be *seen* -- 

"*Oh*!" 

And, of course, that's not the reason. Clark laughs at *himself*. "I'm sorry, but I wanted the opportunity to speak to you more --" 

"You *did*?" 

"Is that so strange? One of my closest friends is a photographer." 

"Your -- but he's -- young. I mean. Didn't James Olsen only just graduate from high school?" 

Clark raises an eyebrow. 

"I... um. I pay attention to... superheroes." 

"Then you should know that Robin -- both Robins -- are my friends, as well." 

"Oh -- there's speculation, of course, but --" Tim licks his lips and his expression turns thoughtfully distant. 

Clark examines -- Tim has very, very deep frown lines. Hm. 

"It's only..." 

"Yes?" 

The frown lines get *deeper*. "The... general consensus on the superhero forums suggests that the older heroes take a parental or pedagogue role." 

Clark blinks -- and smiles. "Sometimes." 

Tim's expression turns distinctly *hungry* -- and then he blushes again. 

Clark doesn't stroke his cheek, doesn't -- 

*This* boy needs none of Clark Kent's money, nor any of the food Kal-El stores in the Fortress, nor -- 

But -- 

"If you have a question, Tim, you should ask." 

"I have -- many questions." 

Clark smiles more broadly. "Start with one." 

"Oh -- that's incredibly stressful." 

Clark touches his upper lip with his tongue and raises an eyebrow. "Start with three...?" 

Tim frowns even *more* deeply -- and then laughs, obviously at himself. "I'm -- not a very interesting person." 

"What were you taking pictures of?" 

"Ah... you. Mostly." 

"'Mostly'?" 

"Well... there are any number of happy people here today. I don't... it can be hard to find that sort of thing... here." 

Clark nods. "You've lived in Gotham all your life?" 

"I was born in Keystone, actually, but the real estate costs for the properties my parents needed to acquire were much more reasonable -- ah. What do you want to *know* about me?" 

Is there love? "Have you been 'paying attention to superheroes' for very long?" 

A *frightened* look -- 

"Or -- obviously, you don't have to tell me anything --" 

"No, I -- I like. Speaking with you -- though you must be busy --" 

"I'm technically not supposed to be here, at all... but I'm not too busy for this." 

Tim's frown speaks *eloquently* of consternation -- 

And the truth is that Clark is normally much more clear about -- 

About things he cannot be clear about in the *slightest* with *this* boy. 

"I'm sorry," Clark says, and smiles ruefully. "You're... well. Hasn't anyone ever told you that you have wonderful eyes?" 

Tim *narrows* those eyes -- 

And Clark laughs again. "Even when you do that. My senses can tell me much about a person. The feel of your hand in mine, before -- you have a slight fever, though almost certainly nothing to worry about. Your scent *was* full of apprehension, but now is full of confusion and curiosity in almost equal measure. That's a broad combination of scents, with something almost reminiscent of a lightly-sweetened pastry."

"Ah.... ah?" 

Clark grins. "Sometimes... sometimes I prefer paying attention to the things only humans would be able to discern. Like the light and life in your eyes, which are full of great intellect and... well. They were also full of something that felt very familiar from the other side," and Clark raises an eyebrow. 

"I... what... was that?" 

"Loneliness." 

Another blush -- 

Clark nods. "If loneliness has a scent, I haven't allowed myself to know it.... but it could certainly be similar to the acrid scent of particularly acidic tears... well. I spent a lot of time lonely as a child, and rather... ah... *lost* when it came to the prospect of spending time with people my own age --" 

"But that sort of thing is easier *now*?" 

"Ah..." Clark coughs and snorts. "In some ways...? *Do* you follow Robin's career?" 

"Nightwing and Robin are two different -- I mean. Yes." 

Clark tilts his head to the side. "So you believe that the current Nightwing was the former Robin?" 

"It's really quite obvious when you take their fighting styles into consideration -- ah." 

Clark considers *that*, and... hm. "Would you... walk a few steps? In any direction?" 

"Um -- all right," and Tim walks *away* -- 

And that answers many questions. "You've studied the martial arts. Batman could undoubtedly tell which *ones* --" 

"Ah -- karate. And judo." 

Clark grins. "Would you like to be a hero when you're older?" 

In response, Tim's beautiful eyes go wide with *shocked* hunger -- and then he shutters them so quickly -- 

"Oh -- don't do that --" 

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I should go --" 

"Please --" 

"It was very nice talking -- um. I'll discard all the pictures I have of you with -- or I can 'shop out the sugar --" 

"Tim --" 

"My parents are almost certainly looking for me --" 

"That was a lie." Clark frowns. "*Why* was that a lie?" 

But that earns him a look of absolute *horror* -- 

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to --" Clark shakes his head. "I would never pressure you, or -- or *demand* your company --" 

"It's just -- I haven't been a very good *businessman*."

"Is that... necessary?" 

Another look of consternation -- 

And Clark uses Bruce's gesture for 'stand down' without thinking about it -- 

And Tim takes a sharp breath and stands up straight... and then takes a much deeper and more meditative breath. 

"Oh... you recognized that?" 

"No!" 

"Please don't lie to me. I'll never lie to you --" 

"Ah -- are you attracted to me? Physically --" 

"Ah... hm." 

Tim raises a *pointed* eyebrow... but there is doubt behind it. 

Doubt Clark could *deepen* -- if he wanted to. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. But --" 

"Oh. Oh my God. Ah. Ah." 

Clark tries a more *traditionally* soothing gesture. "I'm not hitting on you --" 

"Um. You're not?" 

"No. I'm -- well. I'm usually much more clear about that sort of thing --" 

"With *teenagers*?" 

Clark raises his eyebrow again. "Nightwing and I have been close for... years." 

In Clark's experience, humans can only hold that expression for so long before it becomes uncomfortable -- he doesn't massage Tim's face. 

He doesn't offer to take him to the Fortress. 

He doesn't -- do any of that. Instead, he takes Tim's hand again and brushes his thumb over the very *lightly* scarred knuckles. He -- "Robin would see these as a beginning. Your knuckles, I mean." 

If anything, Tim's eyes grow *wider* -- 

"He can be... a very intimidating young man. Very rough in his speech and manner of being..." 

"I've... I... have a few. Pictures. Of him, I mean." 

"Do you spend a lot of time in Gotham proper at night?" 

"I -- I saw him in New York. With the Titans, I mean." 

There was a lie in there... somewhere. But Clark trusts himself enough to know that the lie was in the background of that statement. He can be patient. He nods and strokes Tim's knuckles again. "He is, at the heart of him, one of the warmest, kindest, and most loving people I know -- for all that his love can leave bruises on the unwary." 

And Tim... leans forward. His lips are parted slightly, and his eyes are still quite wide -- 

"Robin is... one of your favorite heroes?" 

"Always -- I mean. Yes." 

"'Always'?"

Another blush -- but Tim doesn't look away. "He has to do everything Batman does, despite being half his size -- or less -- and dressed... um... like that." 

Clark lets his smile be a crooked one. "The first Robin chose that uniform himself --" 

"I know -- I mean. I figured. It didn't... seem like something Batman would choose." 

The lie there... is rather closer to the forefront, though still not direct. That *is* a thought Tim had had... but it's not the only one. Still -- 

He never wants to be lied to. He never -- 

Clark lets go of Tim's hand -- 

"Oh -- I'm sorry -- I didn't mean to hold on --" 

"You didn't --" 

"But --" 

Clark smiles ruefully. "It can be hard to..." He shakes his head. "Every human I've met has a unique scent, but the scent of lies is always... unpleasant." 

Tim bites his lip and blushes hard. "I don't -- I'm sorry -- I know who they are." 

"Who?" 

Tim looks around with a *very* good impression of casualness -- 

"There's no one nearby. Only a metahuman could hear us at this distance, and the nearest one is at least half a mile away." 

"You -- ah. All right. I'll just -- all right," Tim says, and gives him the look everyone gives him sooner or later: the rueful *and* wry acknowledgment that Clark has, at his disposal, a frightening amount of power. 

"Yes?" 

"Bruce Wayne is Batman. Dick Grayson is Nightwing. Jason Todd is Robin. Barbara Gordon is Batgirl. Roy Harper is Arsenal. Kory Anders is really Koriand'r --" 

Oh. "Tim --" 

"I -- I know you can't confirm any of that. I just -- I've never wanted to be the sort of person who lied to Superman," he says, and... smiles ruefully, despite the fact that his heart is pounding. Despite the fact that he'd just -- well. 

Clark licks his lips because he can't *stop* himself. "Do you know me?" 

Tim's expression turns wry once more. "I can follow Robin over rooftops. I can't fly." 

Clark nods thoughtfully -- he can't confirm. 

It's just that he can't *deny*, either -- 

"We don't -- have to speak about that. Any of it. Or -- anything, really. I don't know why --" 

"Tim... are you attracted to *me*?" 

"Are you honestly *surprised*?" 

"Your scent --" 

"Ah. Well. I think I'm too close to being in shock to really -- ah. And I appreciate that. I don't particularly want an erection right now." 

Clark coughs -- 

And Tim's smile is quiet and more than a little sly. 

Clark hums. "You knew that line would have an effect." 

"I... had my hopes. I haven't told anyone --" 

"Will you?" 

"*No*! I mean -- there isn't really anyone --" 

"Not your parents?" 

"Of course not --" 

"Do you follow Robin often?" 

"And... and Batman. Batgirl looks behind herself more often. I go to her library, instead. She helped me find a lot of information about home development of photographs." 

Clark blinks. "Your camera is digital." 

"It is *now*. I -- I decided I couldn't risk keeping hard copies of my photographs. No one but me can get into my encrypted files." 

Clark raises an eyebrow -- 

But Tim squares his shoulders. "I've... made a study of hacking, Superman. I won't say I know all the tricks, but I really do know many of them." 

And Barbara could help him learn more... and the question of whether or not he knows that can't be asked today. 

Or -- ever? That can't possibly be right. 

Clark takes *both* of Tim's hands in his own -- 

"Oh -- Superman?" 

"Consider... consider doing more with your time than following others, Tim." 

Tim blushes *very* hard this time -- 

"I'd like to stroke your cheek." 

"You -- you can --" 

"I think not," Clark says, and smiles as gently as he can -- 

Tim *searches* him for it, though, frowns -- 

And Clark lets out a more true smile -- 

And Tim moans softly, softly -- 

There's someone coming. Small -- though not quite as small as Tim himself -- and female. Brisk steps -- 

And a scent not unlike Tim's own. He has a chance, here, to take Tim somewhere else -- 

Tim wouldn't *mind* -- 

His scent is *changing* --

But it goes against the rules he's set for himself, as arbitrary and *ridiculous* as those rules seem in this moment. It -- 

Clark shakes his head -- 

"Superman?" 

"I'm sorry. I -- I believe your mother is coming." 

The arousal in Tim's scent falls away under a scent of *fear*. Clark *can't* -- 

"Beautiful boy --" 

"*Oh* --" 

"Perhaps... consider calling to me some night when you're alone. You don't have to be in trouble..." Clark shakes his head again. "Consider it." 

And Tim's eyes grow wider, *deeper* somehow -- 

Clark squeezes Tim's hands and flies, forcing himself to do it slowly enough not to disturb the tents or vehicles -- 

He musses Tim's mother's hair, though, and the expression on her face... 

He can't be sure of it.


	2. Terror is absolutely the appropriate set of emotions when dealing with one's parents.

Tim watches Superman fly -- and then he can't, because his speed changes from something like a jet to something... impossible. 

Inhuman. 

It -- 

Superman wants Tim to *call* him. Superman -- wants Tim. 

Superman had, perhaps, wanted Tim from the moment -- 

Had he chosen to speak to Tim *because* Tim is black-haired and blue-eyed? He's nothing *like* Dick, and -- 

Is he involved with Jason, too? Tim's even less like Jason than he is like *Dick* -- 

Does he ever have sex with adults? Is he -- 

How had the tabloids not caught *those* rumors? They all insist that he's dating Lois Lane, and -- 

Is she some sort of -- of *beard*? Could that even be possible -- 

And those are his mother's fingers on his chin. She's touching him, and that means -- 

Tim forces himself not to jump, or -- 

He deliberately waits to speak until he knows he won't stammer or do anything worse than blushing. He smiles ruefully. "Sorry, Mother. I didn't really expect to meet a superhero today." 

She raises an eyebrow. "Or spend a significant amount of time alone with one?" 

"Not -- it wasn't that long." 

She raises her eyebrow *higher*, but -- 

"It really was less than ten minutes, Mother." Wasn't it? 

She hums and glances toward the patch of sky where Superman had picked up that amazing speed -- and then she turns back to look at him *shrewdly*. "That's far more time than he spent with any of the other... young people." 

"I --" It is. It -- "True." 

"What *were* you discussing?" 

What is he supposed to -- "My martial arts training, actually --" 

"Really." 

Tim blushes, and lets it look more extreme than it is by lowering his head -- 

"Tim..." 

"He -- he couldn't tell what, exactly, I'd studied, Mother. He said. He said Batman would've been able to." 

"The Batman. Hmm. I suppose it was always more likely that he existed than that he *didn't*," his mother says, and looks thoughtful -- and then laughs, two sharp notes and nothing else. 

"Mother?" 

"Was he *recruiting* you, Tim?" 

Perhaps not for a life of *vigilantism* -- "No, Mother. I believe he was..." What? What would *work*? 

"Yes...?" 

Tim puts on his own thoughtful look -- 

"You're *confused*, Tim?" 

"I'm... well, I really need more information before I can be confident of my conclusions, but I think..." Tim looks up and raises his own eyebrow. "I think he's *keenly* aware of how useful his image is, and he does his best to... ah... renew it, perhaps. Hence his occasional deeply public playtime with... ah... fresh-faced youngsters." 

His mother lifts her chin. "You haven't been in elementary school for rather a while, Tim." 

"No, I know, but he spoke of... having been lonely as a child --" 

Another laugh. "Was he *hitting* on you?" 

"Mother!" 

"*Was* he?" 

"*No*. I -- no one hits on me --" 

"It *will* happen," his mother says, and frowns. "Sooner if you throw aside those silly role-playing games of yours." 

"Yes, Mother --" 

"But... I wonder," and she looks thoughtful again. *More* thoughtful. 

"Mother...?" 

"There are... rumors." She looks at him critically. 

"Mother?" But he thinks he knows --

"Hm. I suppose you *are* old enough now." 

He *definitely* knows, but -- how to *say* that no one really pays *attention* to those rumors? The tabloids are *convinced* of the connection to the Lane woman, and the other rumors are jokes, fodder for the less-popular late-night comedians who haven't figured out that the *Throbbin* jokes haven't been amusing for years and --

And then Tim realizes that at least *some* of the rumors are *correct*. 

Does Batman *know*? 

Oh, but -- he *must* -- 

His mother hums again. "I see you've figured out what I've been *dancing* around," and her tone is more than a little proud. 

"I -- I think I would have *noticed* if he had been --" 

She waves a hand in a sharp gesture. "Did he touch you in any way?" 

"Yes, but --" 

"Did he demand a certain degree of your personal space?" 

"Mother --" 

"Did he promise that he would... hmm... 'look out' for you?" 

"He makes that promise to *everyone*, Mother." 

She tilts her head to the side. "You liked him." 

Oh -- damn. "He didn't give me a reason *not* to." Aside from the... ephebophilia. 

Her smile is sharp, broad, and *dark*. "Something tells me that *you* wouldn't think that he had even if he *had* been obvious about hitting on your fresh-faced little self." 

"Mother, as you said, I'm not *eight*." 

"All to the good, really," and her expression *stays* thoughtful this time. 

Tim waits -- 

But she only nods to herself and turns away, gesturing Tim to follow her. "Come on, your father is waiting in the car." 

Oh, but -- "We're not staying for the acrobats?" They wouldn't be as good as Dick, of course, but -- 

"Honestly, Tim, the prime networking was being done while *you* were wandering around with your camera," she says, and shakes her head without turning around. "You're really going to have to do better about that." 

Tim winces while she can't see him. "Of course, Mother. I'm sorry. I'll do better at the next party." 

"I know you will," and there's *fondness* in her voice -- "You rarely make the same *sorts* of mistakes more than once." 

Tim... winces a little harder. And takes up position slightly behind her and to the right. She doesn't say another word before they're in the Lexedes, and then she only chides his father for playing Lohengrin too loud. The conversation, such as it was, is over. 

Tim focuses on deleting the obviously terrible pictures from his camera to save time on upload and just -- 

He doesn't think. He doesn't *trust* himself to think the right *ways* -- 

Not until he's alone. 

He works on his camera -- 

And when they get home, his father does him the favor of looking at his mother in the way -- 

"Oh, *really*...?" 

His father raises the eyebrows he'd just had trimmed -- 

He smiles just *so* -- 

And his mother shows her teeth. 

They head for their bedroom without another word, which means that Tim can do the exact same thing. He can -- 

He *can*, and he can pull up some -- just *some* -- of his favorite images of Dick -- 

Including the one where he's replacing a hopelessly shredded domino -- 

And the one where he's dancing around Bruce with his arms in the air -- 

And the one where it almost -- *almost* -- seems as though he's smiling at Tim, as opposed to the blue-on-black blur that's Bruce -- *Batman* -- in flight. He -- 

He has, maybe, smiled at Superman just like that. He -- but surely he would smile that way at any -- lover?

The word makes him *blush*. *Hopelessly*. 

Tim's had years and years to come to terms with the fact that Dick was almost *certainly* doing more than holding hands with Starfire when they were in private -- 

And doing more than *kissing* Arsenal when *they* were in private -- 

How long had it been going on?

'It' makes it sound more like a *crime* than a -- a *romance* -- 

But shouldn't it? 

Superman had started operating *as* Superman while Dick was still with Haly's. Even if Superman had only been a teenager then -- and that seems so *unlikely*, given how developed his body had seemed in those old pictures -- 

But Superman is an *alien* -- 

He -- 

Tim would very much like to know his name. The name -- 

Well, he supposes he could refer to him as Kal-El. His Kryptonian name. His -- 

The 'son of light'. 

Tim swallows, and thinks about the feel of Kal-El's -- 

But maybe he could call him Kal if he were to -- to call him *to* him. One night. 

("You don't have to be in trouble...") 

Tim feels himself blushing *terminally*, and he can't stop himself from picturing Superman's -- *Kal's* hands on Dick's face. Or -- 

Other places. Other -- 

Tim swallows and tries and fails to hear anything from the hall -- 

No. No, he can -- 

He turns off his monitor and gets up, and walks over, and checks the hall. The maid isn't in today, of course, and his parents will likely be... busy for some time, yet, and -- 

And it's safe. It's safe. It's -- 

It's about as safe as it can *be*, so he hurries back to his computer and turns on the monitor and calls up *that* picture. The one he has saved on *both* of his externals just in case. 

It was taken last August, during one of Gotham's *worst* summer storms. Tim had managed to duck into an all-night 3-21 to avoid the hail, but he'd been caught in a *residential* neighborhood during the torrential downpour. He'd been all set to squelch his way back home -- he'd lost Jason three blocks before -- 

And Jason had dived out of the window of one of the brownstones across the street, shot his grapple, and flown to the rooftop *next* to Tim's. He'd been no more than forty feet away, and his gauntlets had been *black* with blood and rainwater, and his smile had been -- 

There. Just there, and his smile is still wide, still broad -- 

His crooked tooth still gleams -- 

His hair is still wild -- not wet enough to lie flat -- 

And that night he'd thrown his head back and grinned at the sky -- 

And he'd curled his hands into fists -- 

And he's there, right there, and he looks terrifying and triumphant, more huge and muscular than any *human* fifteen-year-old had any right to be -- 

And Tim had taken a dozen pictures before he'd caught this one -- 

And then Jason had shaken himself like -- like a *dog*, and run across the roof before leaping off to fly *again* -- 

Tim hadn't managed to follow. 

Tim hadn't managed to do *anything* but crouch there hunched over his camera and get wetter and harder and wetter and *harder* -- 

It was the first and *only* time he'd ever masturbated outdoors... though not the first time he'd *ejaculated* outdoors. 

He's not...

He's not going to think about *those* nights. Bruce and Jason just don't work together every night, and it's *dangerous* to follow them on those nights -- they watch each other's *backs* -- 

But sometimes -- 

Sometimes it's rewarding. 

Just as it's rewarding in *different* ways to do enough extra credit work in school that the vice principal winks at him skipping his last period study hall to 'go to the library'. Or to *Jason's* school, as the case may be. Sometimes -- often -- Jason has sex with the girls from his school -- 

Outside near the *fields* -- 

But Tim isn't thinking about *those* occasions, either. He's just not. Those thoughts -- he'd deleted all of those pictures, and sometimes he *hates* himself for that as much as he hates himself for taking them in the first place -- 

Those thoughts are for when he's alone in his room at night -- *after* three a.m., when most humans are as deeply asleep as they can be. 

But he can still look at this picture, and... imagine. 

Kal joining Jason. Kal doing something amazing and inhuman to... dry Jason? 

Keep the rain from touching him in the first place? 

He *could* just bring an *umbrella* -- 

Or he could let them both get wet -- 

What does Jason's hair smell like when it's wet? Tim has never been *close* enough to be sure about what conditioner he uses -- 

His hair is always so *wild* -- 

Superman's hair is neat even when he's battling some disturbingly sentient *creature* from *Apokolips* -- that was probably a speciesist thought. 

No, that was *definitely* a speciesist thought, and he's going to have to *watch* those if he's going to have more conversations with Superman -- 

With Kal. With -- 

Tim bites his lip. 

Jason doesn't seem to have a type with girls beyond 'willing and cheerful', though many of the girls Tim has seen him with over the past two years have had fairly sizeable breasts for their ages. He hasn't seen Jason with *any* males save for -- for Bruce -- 

He almost never calls Bruce 'Batman' when they're having sex -- 

When they're making love on rooftops. When -- 

Jason calls him 'B' -- the same way he does at the parties. 

Tim swallows. He -- 

Kal is *also* black-haired, blue-eyed, and very, very large. Even larger than Bruce -- by a very small amount. Is that sort of similarity enough? Hudson has always appreciated women with large breasts and a violent streak, but the only female Hudson talks to is *Callie*, and then only barely. 

Callie likes Ives very much, but doesn't talk about any of the other males she's presumably attracted to. Tim isn't sure if women *do* have conversations like that. He thinks they *must* -- it's only logical -- but Callie apparently doesn't. 

Or doesn't feel comfortable enough with *them* to do it. 

Ives and Callie have been seeing each other casually for nearly four months now. Before then, Ives would join the conversations about attractive women sporadically and... awkwardly. 

Tim learned a lot about how not to seem awkward in those conversations himself by paying attention to Ives -- 

Well. Ives may not be *as* gay as Tim is, but he's certainly not entirely straight. Perhaps a Kinsey two or so. Perhaps less. His attraction to Callie seems real enough, though, and that makes Tim feel grateful in ways he probably shouldn't allow himself. He has no right to Callie's happiness, and no power to affect it beyond being the best friend he can -- 

He's thought about... trying with Ives. 

About being more obvious about his own sexuality, or even just... just touching Ives, a little. 

A hand over his hand, a squeezed shoulder, a lingering smile... 

His mother can make smiles seem like touches. 

Dick's smiles *that* day felt like *hugs*. As much like hugs *as* his hugs. Every last one of them, save for the last, which had stayed with him for as long as the kiss he'd left on the top of Tim's head. 

Jason's smiles feel like... grips. 

Kal's smiles today -- 

His *real* smiles -- 

("Consider it.") 

Tim blushes again and closes the picture, giving himself room to remember the stroke over his knuckles -- 

("I'd like to stroke your cheek.") 

He'd liked Tim's blushes. Or -- he'd seemed to. He... perhaps he appreciates a certain amount of innocence in his lovers? 

His... friends-with-benefits? 

Jason isn't innocent, at all. 

Dick can't *possibly* be as innocent as he *looks* -- 

As he sometimes looks. As -- 

Maybe anyone would look innocent next to Arsenal or Starfire. 

Kal... also didn't look innocent. He didn't leer, or wink, or... anything like that. He just *looked* at Tim, and *studied* him openly, warmly -- 

("I'd like to stroke your cheek.") 

But being smiled at by him had been like *being* stroked. Touched with -- 

His hands were very warm, but somehow didn't make Kal seem feverish, as opposed to... different. How does he deal with that in his civilian life? Does he *have* -- 

No, he does. If he didn't, then he wouldn't have asked -- 

("Do you know me?") 

Tim would like to. Very... very much. 

The question is what he would do to *get* that sort of information -- or. No, that's not right. Not -- 

That's not what Kal had been talking about. Or -- 

No, he's sure about that. And -- he must be used to having sex with people who only know him by the names he's given to the world -- 

Had he been at the fair today in his civilian guise? Had Tim taken a picture of him standing in the crowd? 

What foods were served with that much sugar?

Tim wracks his mind, but the truth is that there'd been *nothing* there he wanted to eat other than the candy. He's hungry *now*. 

He has to learn how to pay better attention to things if he's going to -- 

Tim swallows, and looks at the wall his bedroom shares with his parents' bedroom. They can't hear anything and *he* can't hear anything, but thoughts like that make Tim feel naked, make the wall seem like... like *gauze*. 

And he's not having that thought. He's -- 

He's not. 

He uploads his pictures to his official file, blushing at the fact that he finally has pictures of a hero that he can *admit* to -- 

He organizes them. 

He pauses to look at Jason in the rain. He -- 

He goes to fix himself a snack. Nothing heavy. His parents will almost certainly want to order in before it gets too late. 

He'll work out later.


	3. No pressure!

Clark flies over Gotham for the next several nights because he can, and because he can do it subtly enough to avoid Bruce's alarms. The fact that Bruce looks up more often than he usually does *anyway* -- 

The fact that he can almost *smell* Bruce's irritation even from five miles *up* -- 

Clark promises to apologize later. For now, he has to *see* --

And, on the fifth night, he's rewarded for his care by the sight of Tim climbing out of his bedroom window. He -- 

Clark focuses his hearing the way he hasn't allowed himself to do before. Tim's heart rate is slightly elevated, more so than it had been before Clark had introduced himself, but lower than it was after. His breathing is regular and calm. This is an act he's accustomed to committing. This... 

Clark flies down to four miles above the ground and watches Tim easily run the rooftops just as if he knows -- 

Ah, yes, there he takes the fire escape -- 

And he runs into a subway station. Hmm. Clark *works* to focus his hearing on Tim again, but it takes several milliseconds before he can catch him on the stairs. Too many people, too many echoes, too much *machinery*. 

He takes the train to what Clark knows is a very dangerous neighborhood -- 

And they're very, very close to a hostage situation being handled by... Robin.

Tim almost certainly has a police scanner in his bedroom. 

Jay... 

Clark looks, and Jay is using his little-used, but excellent diplomacy and politesse to talk down a young man rapidly going into withdrawal from both amphetamines and heroin, judging by his scent. 

The man was intelligent enough to surround himself with hostages in an area of the small restaurant he'd taken over with no perfect lines of sight from local rooftops. HRT is nowhere to be seen, and the police officers present run the gamut from nervousness and irritation to outright fear and rage. 

Jim Gordon, Clark knows, is quite fond of Jay, as is most of the rest of the MCU -- often despite Jay's best efforts to the contrary. The rank and file of the GCPD has, on the other hand, never been unable -- or unwilling -- to read Jay's contempt for them as anything but what it is. 

And Bruce is still three and a half miles away. He... hmm. 

If he *wanted* Clark to, he could just call and have Clark *bring* him here. He absolutely knows Clark is *nearby* -- 

And Bruce, while often something of an uncommunicative *bastard* with *him* -- 

Clark would absolutely love to go back in time and explain the concept of 'best friend' to him at a time when it would've *stuck* -- 

While Clark has absolutely been goading him with his unexplained presence -- 

Well. He'd never let that sort of thing get in the way of the *work*. Still, the young man -- the name Jay is using is Mike -- has started to cry more than rant now, and his gun hand is wavering. Tim is trying and failing to figure out a way to get to a good enough vantage point to see or hear anything at all -- 

And there's no reason not to help him. Clark picks Tim up in his arms and sits him atop the ancient water tower that would collapse under the weight of a SWAT team member, but which only creaks a little for Tim. 

"*Oh* -- I -- oh, I can *see* --" And Tim scrambles for his camera and sights perfectly -- 

Just in time to catch Jay taking the cheap gun away from Mike and unloading it with the practiced motions of experience. Thanks to Bruce, Jay knows far more about the various sorts of guns than most gun owners and even many actual enthusiasts. 

Tim gets another shot of Jay tossing the unloaded gun out the window -- 

Another of Jay scanning the crowd of officers below with a smirk -- 

And then Jay is slipping out of view with Mike in tow -- 

And Tim evens out his breathing with a professionalism which is only surprising until Clark lets himself think about it. He -- 

There is much about Tim that Bruce -- and Dick, and Jay, and Barbara -- would like very, very much. For now, though... 

"May I take you somewhere else?" 

"Oh. I -- thank you! I just -- I didn't expect -- I'm sorry I didn't --" Tim bites his lip and tucks his camera away -- 

"You might want to save that for when Robin steps out of the building --" 

"I don't like the way he smiles when he's around police officers -- ah." He blushes, and turns to face Clark where he's hovering in the deepest patch of shadow. "You're... lurking?" 

"I'm not supposed to be here." 

"You were... um." 

"Watching for you."

Wide eyes, a blush -- no, a flush. The scent of arousal is sudden and *deep* -- 

"Oh... Tim. You've been thinking of me?" 

"I -- I -- Kal." 

"Not at this moment, not truly, but..." Clark lifts the leg of Tim's simple, sturdy, and 'relaxed-fit' jeans, lowers his sock, and kisses his ankle -- 

Tim moans for him -- "What -- do you want me to call you Superman?" 

Clark laughs and lets his eyes flare. "No. I'd like for you to call me Clark." 

Now -- 

*Now* Tim's heart is hammering. Clark nods. "You didn't know." 

"I -- I told you --" 

"I had to be sure," Clark says, lifting Tim's sock and lowering the cuff of his jeans once more. 

"You -- you can... ah." 

"Yes...?" 

Tim swallows and shakes his head. "I couldn't -- go out for the past few nights. I was training." 

"Judo?" 

"Yes, but I never tire myself out very much with that. I was... I mean. Business training. With my parents." 

Clark nods. "You're expected to take over their company when you're older." 

"Yes," Tim says, with about as much relish as the average dog has for the prospect of being bathed. Somewhat more than the average cat would have, though. 

Barely. "It's not what you want." 

"I... imagine that was obvious. I need to do better --" 

"At lying to me? Please don't." 

A pant -- 

Two -- 

"Is that why you told me your name? To... to encourage me not to lie to you?" 

Clark smiles. "Do you think it will work...?" 

"K-- Clark --" 

"You're a beautiful young man... and you're very, very close to being a part of my life." 

"I --" 

Clark makes a soothing gesture. "Wait a moment?" 

Tim bites his lip and *starts* to squirm -- he stops and nods once. 

Good -- no, not that. "It would be very, very easy for me to go to Bruce and point out that his secrets are known. That the person who knows them is security-minded, bright, athletic, and skilled enough at the martial arts that he can *hide* that skill --" 

"I couldn't --" 

"You did... from me. Briefly, but... you must understand that such things are relative, yes...?" 

"I've... read a little about subjective time." 

Clark smiles again. "I'd be happy to tell you my thoughts about it... some other time." 

Tim nods somewhat jerkily. "I'll -- I'm listening." 

"Thank you. I could tell him all of this -- it would take less than a minute, as Bruce has come to trust me and my shorthand over the years -- and then... well, he would find you. He wouldn't necessarily ask me to *bring* you to him -- he prefers the personal touch for that sort of thing -- but you *would* find yourself in his headquarters soon enough." 

And Tim's breathing isn't even at all, anymore. "I'm not -- I couldn't -- I'm not *good* enough --" 

"But you'd like to be. You'd like to be... perhaps more than anything else?" 

A moan -- 

A blush -- 

"That's not enough --" 

"No, it isn't. There would be training -- training that would exhaust your mind, body, and spirit. There would be blood, sweat, and tears... not to mention the semen." 

"*Clark* --" 

"Oh. You've allowed me to scandalize you." Clark *grins*. "Thank you." 

"I -- anyone *would* be --" 

"Not Jay. *He*... would only snort. And perhaps say something rather obscene. Still, he and Dick would be the first people to agree with me about the semen. Bruce is a handsome man in his public life, but he's staggeringly beautiful with the people he chooses to allow into his home. His *homes* --" 

"There are caves beneath the manor --" 

"And there is a Cave, as well," Clark says, stressing the word just so. 

Tim stares at him, wide-eyed and wanting... and it's a little much. Clark doesn't *want* -- 

Not *yet* --

Clark pulls Tim into the shadows with him. "I could do this... right now." 

"I -- you shouldn't --" 

"Because you don't want me to? Tim..." 

"I -- I won't *lie*," Tim says, and stands straight again. "Of *course* I want it. I want it -- more than I'm *afraid* of it. But I'm not -- it's not *possible*, Clark." 

"Because... of your parents?" 

"They wouldn't *respond* well to me disappearing for hours and hours -- I mean. They'd *notice*." 

"When?" 

"I -- what?" 

"When would they notice, Tim? Your voice... changed." 

"I don't know what --" Tim cuts himself off with something of a hiss. "Sometimes I'm *needed*, Clark. And -- other times there's training. I haven't been doing a very good job networking with the children of my parents' associates --" 

"Do any of them interest you as much as... Robin?" 

"Of *course* not --" 

"Half as much?" 

"I --" 

"A quarter? An eighth?" 

"Yes, the math is very interesting, I'm sure, but that's not important --" 

"I've learned... many things over the years," Clark temporizes, cupping Tim's shoulders and squeezing -- 

"Warm -- you -- I'm sorry --" 

"It's all right. I'd like to warm you... even more. But I must tell you something first, Tim." 

Tim's swallow is almost *loud* -- "I'm still listening." 

Clark sighs and squeezes Tim just a little harder, just enough that the touch is *barely* on the fair side of uncomfortable. 

"Clark...?" 

"Tim... one of the things I've learned is that there are not enough of us in the world. There aren't ---" Clark shakes his head. "Sometimes I find myself sure that there never *could* be enough of us --" 

"You -- you're *here* instead of stopping supervillains or -- anything else --" 

"And people are dying for it." 

"Oh, *God* --" 

Clark smiles ruefully. "We all choose, to some extent, who lives and who dies." 

"*How*?" 

"With difficulty and pain, of course. With the occasional -- or not so occasional -- emotional breakdown. With guilt and terror." 

"You don't -- seem --" 

"There are relatively few people whom I allow to see that sort of thing. No one *truly* wants Superman to be human in *those* ways." And Clark raises an eyebrow -- 

But Tim frowns rather darkly. Hm. 

"Tim?" 

"I -- you said you wouldn't lie to me." 

Oh... "So I did. All right. Right now, there are three people in the process of dying violently in this city alone --" 

"Oh -- *oh* --" 

"Bruce is doing his level best to save one of them -- he has wonderful instincts about where to focus his efforts on a nightly basis. The second one is a child who was -- apparently -- being terribly beaten... hm... I'd say three hours ago, judging by the quality of the sounds she's making. I was in Antarctica at the time, doing research for Clark Kent's civilian job --" 

"You -- but --" 

"So you *do* know that name...?" 

"You and Lois Lane write about -- *you* all the time --" 

"Forgive me, but no: Lois writes about Kal. Clark Kent writes about Superman. Neither of them will ever -- hopefully -- write about *me*. I'll elaborate on that in a few moments if you'd like...?" 

Tim swallows audibly again. "You were -- you were talking about the people dying --" 

"The last one has finished the process of dying. He was a young man *also* being beaten. Judging by what the men doing the beating were saying, he had stolen money. Drug money. I... I can't work here, Tim. I can't --" Clark shakes his head. "When there are children involved -- and no particular supervillains who might have the wherewithal to call in the sort of supervillains with the power to level city blocks -- I will sometimes work *anyway*... and then every hero in the world will hope with everything they have that none of my worst enemies will take revenge on this city." 

"I. I think I. Metropolis is... sturdier than Gotham." 

"Oh, yes. I've often wondered why that's so, considering the fact that it's in a very tectonically *placid* area -- more so than here, even -- but the rumors are that the city founders were more than a little paranoid. Just the same... just the same, the screams of that little girl will come back to me in my nightmares." 

"You..." Tim frowns. "How often do you *sleep*?" 

Oh... clever boy. Clark smiles just a *bit* sharply. "When I choose to. It's difficult to induce sleep, but sometimes it's far more than simply therapeutic to do. Even though the nightmares are nearly guaranteed unless I also... subject myself to other things. The AI in the Fortress is capable of manipulating my dreams any way I see fit, but there are times when I don't allow it to do so." 

"Is it... penance?" 

Clark raises an eyebrow. "Are you religious?" 

"No! I mean -- it's all right if you -- I mean. Ah. It's a useful word." 

"Yes, I suppose it is. But no, it isn't... hm. Well, I don't *think* it is. I *believe* -- and I will admit that I don't know myself perfectly --" 

"Does anyone? Oh -- I'm sorry --" 

Oh... Clark removes his cape and folds it on the roof, then sits Tim down on it -- 

Tim gasps -- "I -- you wanted me to sit down?" 

"I'd like for you to be comfortable." 

"Um. We're talking about death. And sex. And -- a lot of both. I don't think 'comfortable' is really... plausible." 

Clark laughs quietly and sits tailor-style in front of Tim, knowing from experience that, in some ways, the pose just makes him look larger and more intimidating -- 

But Tim only shivers and becomes more aroused. He -- 

Clark strokes his cheek -- 

"You -- you didn't do that before." 

"No. You're closer to me now, though." 

"Because -- because I want to be a vigilante?" 

"A hero," and Clark raises an eyebrow again -- 

Tim licks his lips. "Yes. Yes." 

Clark nods and strokes Tim's other cheek. "I would give you this life if you let me. I would... well. Would you take the darkness, as well?" 

"*Yes*! I mean --" 

"No, I believe you meant just that," Clark says, and lets Tim see him narrow his eyes thoughtfully. 

"I -- Clark?" 

Clark sighs. "There's been darkness in your own life. In your heart?" 

Tim shutters his eyes *and* looks down -- 

"Please don't do that." 

"I -- I don't want to whine." 

"But do you want to talk about it?" 

"It's not -- it's nothing like what you've gone through --" 

"Have there been tears?" 

A scent of fear -- and hurt. 

Clark nods. "Has there been a sense of hopelessness?" 

More of the same. And -- "Clark --" 

"I'd like for you to talk to me about it someday... but it need not be now." 

"I -- I've made you --" 

"You've forced me to do nothing, Tim. Please don't think that way." 

"But --" 

"I have cried. I have screamed. I have hidden myself away from the sun's light until I could feel myself weakening -- until I thought I could feel what it was like to *hurt* the way the people I don't save do --" 

"You can't -- you *can't* save people all the time --" 

"Can you be who your parents need you to be all the time?" 

"Oh -- don't --" 

Clark raises a hand. "I'm sorry. That was an unfair question --" 

"I don't think -- I don't think it was," Tim says, and frowns. 

"You're very... have you ever been away from them for a significant period of time?" 

A scent of *deeper* hurt -- 

"Oh, Tim --" 

"You can't -- you can't make distinctions like that for my age if you're also going to *hit* on me, Clark." 

"Is there no room for sexuality within the context of youthfulness?" 

Wide eyes once more -- 

And Clark laughs and pushes at the air -- and pauses. "Roy taught me that gesture. Do you find it familiar?" 

"You're... discouraging me gently?" 

Clark grins. "Precisely. I don't truly want to make love to you as another teenager would, as I haven't *been* a teenager for quite some time. Additionally... well, innocence tends to be quickly lost in this vocation." 

Tim swallows again -- "Dick... Dick often seems very innocent." 

"Dick is... unlike anyone else. Dick may very well retain the *heart* of his innocence until he dies." 

"And... you won't ever let that happen if there's a way you can prevent it." 

"Not unless he needs me to. And then... well, perhaps not even then. I love him deeply, Tim. I have since bare hours after meeting him." 

"Oh, I -- I met him." 

"At a party?" 

"No -- well, yes, but that doesn't count. He wasn't -- he wasn't being himself, then. My parents took me to Haly's." 

Clark blinks. "But -- you couldn't have been --" 

"I was three," Tim says, and smiles ruefully. "I... my parents took me to meet the performers, and Dick... ah. He held me on his lap for a little while, and fed me fairground foods, and hugged me, and told me jokes I mostly didn't understand..." Tim shakes his head. "He... he changed my life. He showed me... ah. Never mind --" 

"He showed you a brighter world, didn't he?" 

A *haunted* look -- 

Clark offers his own rueful smile. "I promise I can stop asking questions like that --" 

"Can you?"

Clark blinks --

"I don't -- my parents... they aren't *abusive*, Clark. They just... have different interests than I do." 

How different? How often do they force their interests on you? What would it *take* to make an encounter with a friendly boy -- oh... "Did you follow Dick's life, Tim?" 

"Yes. I -- um. It wasn't difficult, since Bruce Wayne is a public figure. And... I... I also saw Batman that day --" 

"You were there the night Dick's parents were *killed*?" 

"I... ah. My parents didn't take me to any more circuses -- oh, God, that was a tasteless comment, I'm sorry --" 

Clark coughs and pats Tim's shoulder. "It's -- all right. You're telling me that it was the key to your discovering Bruce's identity?" 

"Dick's first, but... yes."

"Are you fond of other sorts of detective work?" 

"Yes, actually. It's... um. Satisfying." 

Clark nods -- and pauses. A breath was taken three blocks away which was... familiar. 

"Clark?" 

Clark raises a hand to *pause* Tim, the beautiful and *quick* boy, and focuses -- and recognizes the beat of Bruce's heart sped and made as irregular as he could manage it. He's *not* unhealthy or even truly stressed. He's just doing an excellent job of hiding from *him*. Clark laughs helplessly. "We have a choice to make, Tim." 

"A... choice?" 

"Bruce will be here in minutes only --" 

"*Oh* --" 

"Yes. He disguised the rhythm of his heartbeat in an effort to sneak up on me --" 

"That's *possible*?" 

Clark strokes down the bridge of Tim's nose. "He'll teach you to do just that if you let him." 

Tim looks around somewhat wildly, pats himself down as if his body is incorrect -- 

"You need not *fear*, Tim --" 

"I can't -- I'm not *ready* --" 

"Very, very few people are ever 'ready' for Bruce. And *no* one is ready for him *all* the time --" 

"But --" 

"Not even Jay. Not even *Dick*." Clark smiles. "And certainly not me, though I owe him an explanation for why I've been spending so much time over Gotham lately --" 

"Don't tell him!" 

"If it's all right with you, I'll tell him only that there's a young man who interests me deeply." 

"I -- that would... work?" 

Clark smiles. "He knows more than enough about my tastes to know -- or believe he knows -- exactly what that statement means." 

Tim's expression... puckers. "Does he... ah... I mean. I've seen... um." 

"Hmm?" 

"I've seen him with... Jason." 

Oh... "Did you like it?" 

Tim swallows. "I'm -- I shouldn't have looked -- kept looking." 

Clark can't hold in a sigh. "You did like it. The way they touched each other?" 

The blush is deep, dark, *warm* -- 

Clark strokes Tim's cheeks again -- no. He strokes Tim's left temple, where there's just a *hint* of sweat -- 

He tastes it -- 

And Tim moans for him again. 

"That's beautiful, Tim." 

"My -- my *noise*?" 

"Have you never wanted a lover to express their pleasure vocally?" 

Tim shivers. "I haven't -- I mean. Of course I've thought about it --" 

"But men are supposed to be quiet? Stoic, perhaps...?" 

"I -- they --" And Tim stops himself and blinks rapidly. 

"Yes, Tim?" 

"Bruce. Bruce isn't quiet." 

"Not for Jay, no." 

"Oh, but -- for you?" 

Clark smiles, and lets it be somewhat... wet. "Sometimes. He can be an *exceedingly* frustrating man. Mostly, perhaps, because he knows it arouses me deeply. He's two blocks away, now." 

Tim looks around -- 

"He's to the west." 

And Tim looks in that direction unerringly. 

At this point, Clark isn't truly surprised by that. "Do you desire him, Tim? Or only Jay?" 

"Dick --" 

"Oh, I was taking Dick as read. Everyone even moderately sane desires Dick." 

Tim giggles for that, and then looks horrified that he could ever do such a thing. 

"That was beautiful, too." 

"I -- you really *do* like young people." 

"Oh, yes. But... I mostly like *happy* people." 

A *spike* of fear -- 

"Tim...?" 

"I -- it's nothing --" 

"Please --" 

"I'm not -- I'm not always a cheerful person." 

What did they do to you? "Should I be flattered that you've been so generally cheerful with me?" 

Tim looks at him from under his lashes. "You can't tell me that's... ah... unfamiliar." 

Clark smiles again. "Thank you." 

"For?" 

"The implied compliment... and the expression on your face. It's rather *sharply* seductive." 

"Oh -- oh." 

"Bruce uses looks like that when I've been... hm. Very good." 

Tim *searches* him -- 

"One more question before I take you away from here?" 

"Oh -- thank you -- please -- I mean. Yes? Yes." 

Clark laughs. "*Do* you desire Bruce?" 

"He's -- I don't know. I don't -- I haven't been able to see who he really is. Who he must be in order to do the things he does. I don't know. I've fantasized about Batman extensively, however." 

"Something else that happens rather often in this community," Clark says, and winks. "Where should I take you?" 

"I. I assumed you were going to take me *home*, Clark --" 

"Is that where you want to go?" 

"I -- no." 

"Then this," Clark says, lifting Tim and wrapping his cape around him. The neighborhood he brings Tim to is quite terrible, but Clark has no doubts that Tim has been here before. Perhaps on *this* rooftop, which has truly excellent sight-lines to the surrounding area... and to Jay being truly *brutal* with a man who either is a pimp or enjoys dressing like one. 

"Oh, *Clark* --" 

"Shh. Jay is often very focused at times like these, but he *can* still be distracted," Clark says, and kisses Tim's temple. "Ah... enjoy?" 

"Yes -- I mean -- thank you!" And Tim's whisper is fervent and low. 

Clark smiles. "May I come to you tomorrow?" 

"Of course!" 

"I like that answer very... mm. Very much," and Clark kisses Tim's temple again -- 

And Tim moves... oddly. He seems to simultaneously be trying to move closer and *root* himself to the roof. 

"Tim?" 

"I --" 

And there's time enough, of course, to stop him, to *move* him, to *alter* -- 

But Clark lets the soft kiss land on his cheek -- 

Lets the second, *harder* kiss land on the corner of his mouth -- 

Catches Tim's panted breath in his *mouth* -- only a peck. Only a *touch*, mouth to mouth -- 

And Clark ends it by covering Tim's mouth with his hand when he hears -- almost *tastes* -- the beginning of a *powerful* moan. 

Tim's eyes are as dazed as they would be -- will be? -- for much more extensive touches -- 

"It's all right." 

Tim's heart is *pounding* -- 

"You're so very beautiful. I... well. Understand that I will never pressure you, Tim. All right?" 

Tim blinks rapidly -- and nods slowly. And kisses Clark's palm. That...

"I find that touch very arousing, Tim." 

And Tim... looks down. Not *quite* pointedly, but... 

Clark laughs again. "I've been forcing myself not to have an erection, but... one moment," and Clark relaxes himself at speed, opens himself to the scent of Tim's arousal, his wonder and *curiosity* -- 

And Tim moans as he watches Clark get harder and harder under his clothes.

"Beautiful boy. Do you like it?" 

A fervent nod, another blush -- and a somewhat abortive *reach*. 

"You can touch me, Tim."

Tim searches his eyes -- and pulls back from Clark's hand. "I... ah." 

"I won't consider it... hmm... escalation? I was a very curious boy when I was your age --" 

"It's -- rather more than *curiosity* --" 

Clark winks again. "I was also aroused rather more often than I wasn't when I was your age." 

"And... not now?" 

"I have perfect -- and precise -- muscle control, as well as control over several other bodily functions. I don't have to be physically aroused, at all." 

"But --" 

"*But*... I'm still emotionally aroused rather more often than I'm not, yes. I would like for you to get used to me as quickly as possible." 

"Then --" 

"I *don't* want to rush you." 

"I -- sometimes I *need* to be rushed. I can. I can be very dithery --" 

"Tim. Do you want to touch me?" 

"I. I -- I can feel your... warmth. I want to know -- yes. I want to touch you --" 

"Then do it," Kal says, and lets his eyes flare enough that his expression will be somewhat unreadable. And covers Tim's mouth for his moan as he reaches out -- 

As he strokes Kal's shaft with just his fingertips -- 

As he cups Kal's scrotum and squeezes *lightly* -- 

And the touches grow more firm, more sure -- 

And rather more *clinical*. Hm. Clark draws himself back out. "Tim...?" 

Tim blinks and pulls away from Clark's hand -- 

Leans in to kiss again -- 

Pulls back and smiles ruefully. "I -- ah. I was trying to... estimate." 

Clark blinks. "Did you think I would make you take all of it inside you?" 

"Um... I think it's fair to say that I was hoping. Were you -- were you... different?"

"Kal-El can be very dominant. Some of my lovers have found that sort of thing... helpful." 

"And... pleasurable?" 

"Oh, yes." 

"You're confident about that." 

"I have my senses to tell me what I need to know... though *most* of my lovers are communicative enough that I don't have to rely on them." 

A *frustrated* look -- 

And Jay has paused to knock the pimp unconscious and spit on him. From experience, Clark knows that he's planning some further act of disrespect, but in this moment he looks only thoughtful and warmly satisfied. 

Clark turns Tim to face him and puts the camera in his hands -- 

"Oh --" Tim immediately takes several pictures -- 

And Jay stomps on the man's groin before arranging him in the pool of light from one of the gas lamps with his cheek on the ground, his knees spread, and his backside in the air. 

Tim takes a picture of Jay nodding for a job well done -- 

And then turns back to smile ruefully at Clark. "Thank you." 

"You're quite welcome." 

"I -- I don't mean to become so distracted --" 

"I have a photographic memory, Tim. I'm grateful for it every day... and I believe in doing everything I can to help the people I care for make and keep their own wonderful memories." 

*Shining* eyes -- and shuttered ones. 

"Oh, Tim --" 

"I -- I think you *should* take me home, Clark. I'm -- forgetting myself." 

"Would you tell me how?" 

Tim shakes his head and looks *miserable* -- 

"Oh -- please --" 

"I'm not -- it would be very easy to be *seduced* --" 

"I was certainly *hoping* --" 

Tim *coughs* a laugh. 

"That's rather better --" 

"You can't -- you don't *know* me, Clark." 

"Hardly at all, right now... but I believe that will change --" 

"As I get closer to your -- community?"

And Clark can smell anger, hurt, fear, *pain* -- and something with the poisoned sweetness of regret. "Tim, what *is* it?" 

Tim blinks rapidly and draws himself back, shaking his head -- 

"Yes, I can *smell* the pain within you, the difficulty -- was it something I said? Something I did?" 

"I -- I have responsibilities." 

"Of course --" 

"And -- I wouldn't be able to --" Tim firms his mouth into a hard line and shakes his head. "I don't think we should... see each other." 

"Tim --" 

"Please take me home," Tim says, and tucks his camera away. "I -- thank you. Again." 

Clark frowns helplessly and reaches for Tim's cheek slowly, *carefully* -- 

And Tim tilts his head away just as if -- 

Just as if Clark's touch is *distasteful*. The fact that Clark can *still* smell desire -- 

That he can see Tim *shiver* -- 

There are some messages he must take in only the human ways. Clark nods and wraps Tim in his cape, then flies him back to his parents' townhouse. 

There's a strange hum of machinery -- 

Clark doesn't stay to examine it, nor does he let himself listen to Tim --

He doesn't let himself listen. 

Tim can still call him at any time -- 

He has to be allowed *hope* -- 

Clark pushes it aside and joins Bruce on the rooftop overlooking the restaurant where Jay had ended the hostage situation. "I'm --" 

"*When* did you hear me coming?" 

"When you were still three blocks away," Clark says, and joins Bruce in the shadows, which are far less warm and *cozy* -- no. 

"Hn. I don't suppose you plan on telling me...?" 

Well. Clark smiles. "I wouldn't dream of spoiling your fun, Bruce." 

"Of course not," Bruce says, and stands out of his crouch, raising his eyebrow behind the cowl. 

It is, in fact, all that needs to be 'said'. "There's a young man... ah --" 

Bruce hums. "You met him at the Foundation fair." 

"Yes. You might know him --" 

"Really." 

Should he? He knows *nothing*, truly, of Tim's responsibilities, and little enough of his reasons for wanting to stay beneath Bruce's *radar*. He knows -- 

He knows that Tim hadn't wanted to push Clark aside tonight. Not with all of himself. 

He knows that Tim has *potential*, so very much -- 

"You're blurring around the edges. Should I take that to mean that you find yourself *conflicted* about something...?" But there's more amusement than cruelty in Bruce's voice. He -- 

He had grown to be a much, much friendlier person, overall, with Dick's entrance into his life... and he'd grown to be a much less *judgmental* person with *Jay's* entrance. 

With Tim, he might even become *livable* -- 

Though none of this is Bruce's fault, of course. Clark scrubs a hand over his face and lets himself look toward Tim's home -- and *listen* absolutely everywhere else. "His name is Tim Drake." 

"The son of Jack and Janet Drake...?" 

"Yes," Clark says, and -- 

He looks up at the moon instead. It's obscured by clouds and the light of eight million souls with more reason than most to fear the darkness. 

"He --" 

"He's rather small for his age...?" 

"Quite lean and small, yes. He takes after --" 

"His mother. A beautiful woman... aesthetically," Bruce says, and steps closer. "Why aren't you looking at me?" 

"Because I'm not supposed to tell you this much about him." 

"Me." 

Clark laughs painfully. "He knows who you are, Bruce. And Dick, and Jay, and Barbara... and at least some of the Titans." 

"You... pick very strange times to laugh." 

"I told him he would make an excellent hero. It terrified him." 

"So he's sane. Surprising, considering." 

Clark frowns and turns to Bruce. 

"And there you are. Clark... did he know *you*?" 

"No. But --" 

"He does now. You're... fond." 

"To say the *least*. Bruce, what are you hinting around?" 

*Bruce* looks in the direction of the Drakes' townhouse -- "His mother reminded me of my own... before I watched her have a 'conversation' with Dick which left him sickened and me with the distinct urge to shower. Brucie's date for the evening knocked her into the champagne tower after Brucie tripped the woman at the precisely correct time. It took some maneuvering --" 

"What did she *say*?" 

"Nothing of any import. Nothing... incorrect," Bruce says, and frowns. "Her eyes... her eyes remind me of Luthor's." 

"No --" 

"*Lionel* Luthor's." 

"*Bruce* --" 

"She lied with every word. She eyed Dick like meat -- but not with any sexual overtones. She... jockeyed. This was relatively early in her life in Gotham, and I believe she did not yet understand how impossible it is to get anything substantive out of 'Bruce Wayne' at those parties," Bruce says, and rolls his head on his neck. "She pretended to sympathy with Dick. *Motherly* sympathy. The words were correct. The affect was... horrifying." 

"You've watched her with Tim." 

"Oh, yes. And she has continued to be... correct. I fully expected to have to escort Tim to Arkham at least once by the time he was twenty, however." 

"Oh -- no --" 

"Read me objectively, Clark. *How* would I respond to anyone who looked that much like Martha Wayne while acting so little like her?" 

Clark frowns. "You believe you're speaking of her too harshly." 

Bruce doesn't shrug, of course, but there's something of that sort in the way his gaze shifts to a slow scan of everything visible of Gotham from this spot. 

"Understood. I... there is darkness in him. And... a great deal of fear." 

"Beyond that which is understandable." 

"Far beyond. He... I believe he has a pathological fear of failure." 

"So does everyone who knows me, Clark." 

Clark snorts helplessly -- 

And Bruce shows his teeth. "I do know what you're saying. What would you have me do with him? Does he *have* friends to share his deadly secrets with?" 

"I don't believe so. Not... true friends." 

"You tasted his loneliness." 

"Not deeply enough. Not... yet." 

Bruce raises his eyebrow again. "Hesitation...?" 

"He pushed me aside abruptly and *forcefully* tonight. After I..." Oh. Oh, *no* -- 

"What is it?" 

"I said -- implied strongly -- that I cared for him. He reacted with guilt, horror, regret..." Clark winces. 

Bruce nods once and squeezes Clark's shoulder. "What would you have me do." 

"I -- wait." 

"I won't be able to wait long, Kal." 

As ever, when Bruce uses that name, he is asking for intimacy far more than he's asking for dominance or even anything especially *alien*. He's asking for the things which live within Clark, hidden from view. 

He's asking for -- 

Intimacy can, at times, seem like far too small a word. Clark smiles ruefully. "I know. And I even know that you taking him on --" 

"Kal --" 

"You will, Bruce. He's a *detective*. He runs the rooftops just as if he's watched *Dick* do it -- and he *has*."

"Just the same, he's dangerously unstable." 

"I believe this is where I remind you of the sorts of things Jay used to do *habitually* before --" 

"Before Barbara's... yes, I know," Bruce says, gritting his teeth and shaking his head once. "I appreciate you not pointing out my own lack of stability --" 

"I was taking it as read." 

Bruce hums -- and then laughs out loud. It's quiet and *brief*, but still as much of a victory as it ever is. 

"Yes...?" 

"You're honestly hoping that *I* will be able to... calm him." 

"Perhaps a little." 

Bruce raises his eyebrow again. 

"Well --" 

"Kal." 

"It's just that he's very... formal." 

"Yes...?" 

"And... ah... *correct*." 

"Hm." 

Clark tries one of Dick's more eloquently incomprehensible gestures --

"Don't do that again." 

"I'll consider it *very* deeply, I *promise*, but --" 

"You'd still like for me to wait." 

Clark sighs and hovers a bit -- 

Stares toward the Drakes' townhouse -- 

Sets himself down again -- "Ultimately, he belongs with you." 

"But you'd like to have time to convince him that I'm not the *only* one he belongs with." 

"He is --" 

"Beautiful, in his way." 

Clark makes a sour face. 

Bruce *looks* at him. 

"He looks even more like your mother than *his* mother does!" 

"I'm not, actually --" 

"Yes, you *are*, Bruce!" 

"Hm." 

"Don't *hm* at me --" 

"Clark." 

"Ah... yes? I'll calm down now," Clark says, and centers himself at speed until he can gaze mildly at Bruce. 

Very, very mildly. 

Milk is spicier. 

Watered-*down* milk is -- 

"Hm. I surrender." 

"Oh, good," and Clark sighs. "We're agreed?" 

"Yes. Though I'm going to have to ask you to try harder to avoid picking up lovers *here*, Kal." 

"It's your own fault for snubbing that perfectly friendly reporter fellow again." 

"The last time I didn't, I wound up with ink all over my shirt. And jacket. And *pants*." 

"Well --" 

"You were using a *laptop*." 

Clark hums and straightens an imaginary tie. "It sounds like your reflexes are losing a bit of their *snap*, Bruce." 

Bruce's expression is about as acerbic as anything could ever *be* -- 

And Clark does his level best to kiss it off his face until Bruce cups his face with a gauntleted hand and *takes* Clark's mouth firmly. 

*Slowly* -- 

Clark pulls back. "You're a terrible tease." 

"Am I." 

"You're not going to let us *do* anything --" 

"You've already interrupted my patrol, Kal." 

Clark sighs. "One day I'm *going* to wear a Robin suit, you know --" 

"I'll be sure to keep all the cameras running --" 

"-- and then you'll be *helpless*. Kneeling at my feet, even." 

Bruce hums another laugh. "Drake seems rather... thin for it." 

"Yes, well, you *could* give him *pants*." 

"I wouldn't want to risk making him soft." 

"*Bruce* --" 

"Hn. Keep me posted," Bruce says, and leaps off the edge of the roof. 

Clark watches him go for a moment -- 

Allows himself another to listen, just *listen* -- 

Tim is masturbating, breathing rough -- no. He sounds almost *tortured*, lost, *hurt* -- 

Clark doesn't *let* his lovers sound like -- 

Tim is not yet his lover. Not -- 

Tim's breath had tasted like sugared ginger candy. Clark purchases some in Chinatown and leaves a scatter of it on Tim's windowsill, keeping most of himself blurred beyond the capacity of humans -- and *most* metahumans -- to see. 

Just in case. 

He doesn't let himself listen to anything but the cries of people he can save -- 

He flies.


	4. This is absolutely how we respond to having our children groomed by... well...

He'd masturbated three times last night. 

The first time, he'd managed -- it's never precisely *difficult* -- to only think of Dick, though he hadn't managed anything resembling a fantasy. 

The second time, he'd *tried* to only think of Jason, but the fantasy had turned into something dark, something full of big (hot) hands all over him, holding him, holding him *still* as Jason walked closer and closer -- 

As Jason's smile gripped him even *harder* -- 

Tim hadn't been able to pretend that the hands on him belonged to Bruce. 

The third time, his erection had woken him out of something -- no. It hadn't been anything *like* a sound sleep, and he can't lie to himself about that. The dreams had been fragmentary and -- and *hot*. In terms of *temperature*. 

He'd woken out of a dream of being dressed in a Robin suit that was -- somehow -- tailored to fit him. He'd been standing over the body of the Joker just like Barbara Gordon must have when she'd walked in on the -- the *creature* torturing her father -- 

No one knows the whole story behind that night. Not officially. 

No one really cares about 'official'. Certainly, *he* doesn't, and that's one of the reasons why he's not really *suited* -- 

Why he could never *be* suited -- 

But Barbara is still Batgirl. Still -- and maybe forever. Tim frowns down at the questions he's collected for the board meeting which his parents will be taking him to in another ninety minutes or so. He's memorized them, of course, but there's something to be said for looking studious. Looking *willing* -- 

He'd woken up painfully hard and with a sore jaw he couldn't understand -- until he'd sneezed and realized that he'd been grinding his teeth and *clenching* his jaw. Not to keep from screaming -- to keep from calling a name. 

Superman is -- 

Clark is tall, broad, beautiful, and warm -- in every way. 

Clark *wants* him. 

Clark wants him to be a *vigilante* -- a hero. Clark -- 

Clark doesn't know him. No one -- no one *could* know *anyone* after just two conversations. Two *abortive* conversations. *Interrupted* conversations -- 

And don't pedophiles use all sorts of emotional tricks to seduce children? Lonely children, especially, make for *good* victims, and -- 

No one needs him. No one *cares* -- no. Not that. Not -- 

And if it's *felt* that way, sometimes -- 

It doesn't matter. It -- he has responsibilities, and it's better to have recognized these basic *facts* *before* he'd done something... dumber than he already had. 

(Clark's face was very, very hard against Tim's lips.) 

(Clark's mouth was -- was --) 

Last night, Tim had started gasping when he'd finally unclenched his jaw, and hadn't been able to stop until his penis was in his right hand and his left was curled around the imaginary *heft* of Clark's. Clark hadn't *liked* the way Tim had touched him, but Tim knows he could do a better job, a *warmer* job -- 

His penis had felt so *hot*, so thick and alive and *growing* -- 

And he's not going to think about this now. He's just -- he's not. This morning, he'd changed all the passwords on his encrypted files and added another layer of security just in case. 

And he'd made himself delete every copy of the picture of Dick peeling off his shredded mask. He doesn't -- 

It's not that he thinks *Clark* would endanger Dick's family's security. It's just -- 

He doesn't know. 

He doesn't know. 

There's something *wrong* in his room now, something different, and off, and *strange*, and Tim has the horrible suspicion that it's him, that he's been *infected* with something -- 

All right, that's just a little too melodramatic. He'd come very, very close to letting someone at least twenty years older than him have sex with him, and introduce him to *Batman* as a prelude to giving up on everything he's *supposed* to do with his life in order to start *risking* his life. For (something better, something real) *strangers*. 

He's not -- 

He's allowed to feel a little off. That's -- 

That's all. 

Tim goes over his questions again. There's no way in hell he'll get to ask more than three or four of them, so he'd made them all as intelligent and brief as possible. All designed to make him sound sagaciously respectful, all designed to make him seem like someone who *cares* -- 

No. No -- 

And his mother knocks on the door. His father's knocks are much more diffident, and his mother trains *every* servant to walk -- softly -- past closed doors unless something *large* is on fire. 

"Come in, Mother!" 

She does, and it's... strange. There's a smile on her face, but it's the one she tends to save for employees who've made entertainingly obvious mistakes. She walks in as confidently as ever, but this time she looks over Tim's room as if it's *new* to her. 

And she's holding a CD. 

"Mother...?" 

She hums and looks at him *sharply*. "Is there anything else you'd like to tell me about your... conversation with Superman?" 

Oh -- but -- "I --" 

"Hmm. I suppose I *shouldn't* treat you like an employee *just* yet. You are only fourteen," she says, and *laughs*. 

Tim feels the blood drain from his face -- 

"Yes, *that*. Well, all right, I'll give you a hint, son. I spoke to Lex -- that would be Lex *Luthor* -- three days ago about certain suspicions I had after that fair. You're aware that the two of us have been working to bring our companies closer together...?" 

"Of course -- " 

"Good. He couriered me certain cameras he's had his labs develop. Very, very, *very* fast cameras," she says, and holds the CD up enough that it catches the light.

Oh, God. 

"*Now* answer my question. Son." 

What had she seen? 

What *could* she have seen? 

Only Clark bringing him back. Only -- only *that*. Unless she'd bugged his *clothes* -- 

She would've had to bug *all* of them -- and, while that's possible, it would also have seemed like a waste of resources without her having more than suspicions. Tim lets himself blush. Not that he has a choice -- 

"Really." 

"Oh -- *no*!" 

She raises an eyebrow at him. 

"I -- I told him that I wanted to go flying. He -- showed me a great deal of the state. From -- ah... the sky," Tim says, and works to sound embarrassed, shamed -- 

It's not *hard* -- 

"I -- he was... sounding me out." That much is *true* -- 

"About *what*, Tim?" 

Well, he can't say anything about his becoming a *hero* -- and he'd definitely have to use the word vigilante -- "Ah. You know the rumors that Wayne Enterprises supports the Batman." 

She rears back and blinks. "Go on." 

"He... well. He didn't *say* anything. Not directly. But... I think it's possible that he was... ah... campaigning. For further funds." 

His mother looks at him steadily. *Curiously*. 

She looks at him like he's a *stranger* -- 

"Mother --" 

"You're actually a *good* liar." 

"Oh -- *Mother* --" 

"How did I not *realize* -- hmm. Well. Your skills *will* stand you in good stead --" 

"I'm not *lying* --" 

"*While* you were masturbating at your computer this morning -- rather furiously, by the sound -- Superman came *back*." 

"I -- *what*?" 

She reaches into her breast pocket and pulls out... ginger candies. 

Tim frowns. "I. I don't buy that brand, Mother --" 

"Presumably, that's something you didn't get a chance to speak about in any detail. He left these on your windowsill, Tim." 

"But. Why?" 

"Perhaps he liked the taste in your mouth." 

"*Mother* --" 

"No...? All right, Tim, here's what's going to happen. You're going to pull out your little 'signal watch' or communicator or *whatever* he gave you --" 

"*Nothing* like that!"

"Then you're just going to *call* him. Lex was *very* clear about the fact that he's capable of hearing *precisely* what he wants to hear, no matter how far away he is," she says, and raises an eyebrow. 

"Please, I -- I didn't --" 

"Tim. I've known you were gay for a very, *very* long time. It's not that you've been *terribly* obvious about it -- not after you got to middle school, anyway -- it's simply that you've been obvious *enough*. I..." She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose -- but only briefly. "Yes, I suppose we have to have this talk now, too. You've shown enough taste, breeding, and intelligence to avoid getting into some sticky entanglement with one of your fellow teenagers, and I commend you for that. If I told Lex who you *have* been getting involved with --" 

"Mother --" 

"Shut up now, Tim. Please." 

Tim winces and straightens his posture reflexively --

And she nods. Once. "Now. If I told him what you've been getting up to with his -- note the capitals -- Mortal Enemy, we wouldn't be able to peel him off with a crowbar and whatever charming lubricant you keep stashed in this room..." 

Tim tries not to *vomit* -- 

And she hums. "We won't do that. We *will* tell Lex that the only things his clever little cameras have caught are pigeons, squirrels, and the solitary habits of a generally solitary *boy*. Understood?" 

"Yes, Mother." 

"We will *also* discuss some matters of business with Kal-El." 

Tim blinks. "I -- what?" 

"Oh, don't be slow *now*, Tim," she says, and looks irritated. "You know *exactly* how poorly our computing division is doing." 

Oh. Oh... "You... want to blackmail him." 

She looks at him. 

"You want to blackmail *Superman*?" 

"Certain considerations given... for certain considerations given. Don't get me wrong, Tim -- I really *don't* care what you do with your body or with whom you do it, so long as you're discreet." And she pauses and looks thoughtful for a moment -- 

Tim swallows while he *can* -- 

And she nods. "In that respect, it's not truly blackmail, at all. You can spend as much time with the alien as you'd *like*, doing whatever you'd like -- so long as you don't miss *too* much school and don't go in with too many *obvious* bruises --" 

"Oh, God --" 

"Oh, *please*. *Focus*, Tim!" 

"I'm focused! You're -- this is -- I told him *no*! I told him that I would -- that I have responsibilities --" And then Tim realizes exactly what he'd said. 

The fact that he does *before* his mother starts smiling again is... the kind of victory he doesn't actually need. Just -- 

"I think this is a mistake, Mother." 

"So you *do* think sometimes with more than just your -- no, no, that's *entirely* unfair to you. You..." She sighs and moves close, setting the CD down on the desk and pinching Tim's chin between her fingers. "Son. Think of it as an opportunity to do exactly what you want to do." 

Tim frowns -- 

"No...? Then think of it as an opportunity to fulfill your responsibilities to the family." 

Tim -- closes his eyes. Just for a moment -- 

"Your father doesn't know..." 

He opens his eyes again. "I -- what?" 

She smiles, and it's almost gentle, almost *soft*. "He never, ever has to, Tim. Think about it." 

"You don't think he'd *notice* Superman stopping by to *chat* with us in my *room*?" 

Her smile is much more in-character this time. "My son. I *think*... that he's already off pressing the flesh with the board members. I told him we would take a car later, because I wanted to discuss the birds and the bees with you." 

"I -- *what*?" 

"He took off like a shot. And you... wouldn't be surprised in the slightest if you took a moment to do more than play the outraged virgin." 

Tim rears back and -- she's right. Of course she's right. About *this* -- "Mother, I... I remain *positive* that it's a bad idea to --" Not blackmail. She won't *hear* that word -- "-- *antagonize* the most powerful being in parsecs." 

"Lex has had him on his knees --" 

"And I'm sure he *enjoyed* it, Mother, but --" 

"No buts," she says, and taps the tip of his chin. "Make the call." 

And there's a moment -- 

There's a sense, within him, that there are options. Not *clear* options, or *easy* options, but -- 

He has an 'in', doesn't he? A chance to... throw himself on the mercy of certain *other* rich and powerful Gothamites. Anything to avoid *this*. 

And his mother sees it in him. Just -- he knows that. He can *tell*, because she looks her age the way she only ever does when something has *thwarted* her. When he was younger, he'd hated that look more than anything, wanted to *do* anything to avoid seeing it on her face. She isn't the *friendliest* person in the world, or the kindest, or the warmest, or anything *like* that, but she's his mother, and Tim had always wanted her to -- to *win*. 

That's not true anymore. That's -- 

*Realizing* that it's not true is enough to make him feel ill again, feel weak and bloated and full of -- of *bile* -- 

"Tim." 

And what would he do in Wayne manor, anyway? Trail along after Jason like some sort of amorous leech? 

Beg Bruce to teach him how to be halfway useful? What -- 

He can't do it. There *aren't* options. But -- 

"Step away from me, Mother." 

She raises an eyebrow. 

"I -- need my personal space. Sooner rather than later." 

She hums -- and steps back. She knows she's won. She knows he's just -- asserting distance. 

Literally. 

"Superman. I -- I need you. As soon as possible." 

Five seconds -- 

Twenty -- 

And for a moment, Tim thinks that it won't work, that Clark had been listening to enough of this to know that he wanted no part of it, that he'd find another *way* -- 

But, abruptly, his mother is holding her hands out, palm up, and there's a silvery dust piled on both of them. "What --"

And Clark is there, in uniform, between Tim and his mother. 

"Superman, I'm sorry --" 

Clark holds up a hand to him. "Please relax as much as you can, Tim. Your mother and I need to speak." 

"Oh, I *see*, it's the CD --" 

"And the fourteen copies you stashed around the house, Mrs. Drake."

His mother blinks, and Tim wonders if Clark can smell fear. 

And wonders if *he* wants to -- 

"Are you threatening me, *Kal-El*?" 

Clark smiles. "No. I don't tend to do that sort of thing, Mrs. Drake. I don't tend to *need* to. I should say, you're also holding the remains of every last one of Luthor's cameras. Including the twenty-three you never placed." 

His mother swallows. "What do you want?" 

Clark smiles more widely -- but Tim doesn't think that it's Clark doing the smiling, at all. "What you offered, Mrs. Drake... with some adjustments, of course." 

She lifts her chin. "What sort of adjustments?" 

"You're a terrible mother. I believe that's something we can agree on?" 

"I'm certainly rather more than *just* a mother --" 

"I only required a 'yes' or 'no' to that question," Clark says, and raises an eyebrow. 

"Then yes. We're agreed." 

Clark nods. "Good. Cede custody of Tim." 

"To *you*?" 

Clark smiles again. "Oh, yes. I don't intend to raise him myself -- but I know many wonderful people who can, with time, reverse the damage you and your husband have done." 

Tim... has no idea what to say. He. There's nothing -- 

What could there possibly -- 

No. He can *focus*. "Ah. Do I get... anything?" 

And Clark turns to look at him -- and it *is* Clark, because his eyes are soft, and gentle, and *hurt* -- "I'm sorry, Tim, but I'm afraid I must get you out of this house." 

Tim blinks. Of course -- of course he would *think* so -- 

And then Clark isn't facing him, at all -- "You should know, Mrs. Drake, that I took the liberty of crushing the small lead box you're carrying in your hip pocket to the point where it would be impossible for *you* to open it." 

Tim rears back. "Mother, you -- *kryptonite*?" 

"*Insurance*, Tim --" 

"Are you *insane*?" 

She shows her teeth. "No. But I am, apparently... short-sighted. I should've skipped the box --" 

"I would've simply waited for you to be without the stone in easy reach, Mrs. Drake. I am many things, but an amateur is not one of them. Now. Back to... business. Tell me what you need from me." 

"Miniaturization, processing speed, power, and artificial intelligence." 

"You can have the first three of those things." 

"I want --" 

"I don't care, Mrs. Drake. You have neither the responsibility for nor the right *to* that kind of technology. Additionally, should DI's computing division advance too far, too quickly, there would be far too many suspicious individuals to contend with. Including Luthor." 

"I *am* capable of subtlety." 

"Your response to the idea of your teenaged son having sex with an adult of another species was to immediately attempt to *sell* your son to that adult. I'm afraid I have my doubts about your capacity for subtlety, and so you'll be receiving the technology on *my* schedule." 

"That's not *good* enough --" 

"I don't care, Mrs. Drake. You *will* give me your son -- I'm having *my* AI compose a reasonable speech for you to give about it, and it will include platitudes about the importance of heroism in today's dog-eat-dog world -- and I *will* give you what I see fit." 

"Or else...?" 

Clark spreads his hands. "I still feel no need to offer threats, but, if it will make you feel better, I have recordings of my own. I believe the most commonly-used phrase for this sort of thing is 'turning out'." 

And his mother -- 

Tim has never *seen* her look this angry, this -- 

Tim growls before he can think about it. "You're *getting* what you *want*!" 

She jerks -- but only briefly before turning to smile at him in a way that makes Tim want to flinch. 

He doesn't. He doesn't -- 

"You're getting what *you* want, too... son." 

"Would you like to tell me *why* you keep using that word that way?" 

"Because --" 

"I'm afraid that's a conversation you don't truly need to have right now," Clark says, and there's a flutter of paper -- "Preliminary paperwork for ceding custody in this state." He drops a CD on top of it. "The beginnings of what your scientists will need to know in order to make the advancements you'd like them to make. I'd planned to give this to the world, but... well. I still can, Mrs. Drake. *Any* time I want to." 

His mother smiles tightly. "Understood. Did you intend to take Tim with you *now*?" 

"Yes," Clark says, bald and *flat*. 

His mother takes a sharp breath -- but she doesn't look at him before she inclines her head. She doesn't.

She doesn't -- 

Tim bites the inside of his lip hard, and he holds it, and he holds it -- 

"Excuse me," Clark says, and Tim is wrapped in red and moving -- 

Not moving, at all. And standing on something... soft? Clark moves the cape, and the world is -- blue. 

And red. 

And gold. 

And -- 

The walls are curved. The air is warm, but not hot. Not more than seventy-five degrees. The ceiling is blue fading to translucence, and the sky is bright and incomprehensible -- 

"Ah -- AI, filter all radiation harmful to humans." 

"Yes, Kal-El." 

Abruptly, there's somewhat *less* translucence, and Tim can make out the white coin of the sun. It looks like a *winter* sun -- oh. Oh. Tim swallows and looks up at Clark. "We're... in the Fortress." 

Clark nods and -- studies him. *Searches* him -- 

"I'm all right." 

"Forgive me, Tim, but --" 

"I don't -- want to talk about -- I'm sorry." 

"Tim?"

"You shouldn't have had to --" Tim swallows and bites his lip and doesn't -- 

And, abruptly, he's being... hugged. Firmly. 

*Warmly* -- 

Very firmly -- 

Of course, he can still *breathe*, and -- well, he can't move very much. "Ah... Clark?" 

"We don't ever need to speak of what happened today, Tim, but you're going to have to speak to someone about it." 

"I don't -- there's no one --" 

"Perhaps... friends from school? Trusted friends." 

"Of course, but. I never... I never have conversations like that with." It feels like the space behind his eyes and nose has been... rubbed with peppers or something -- 

And Clark squeezes him more tightly. 

"You can't -- you don't have to -- oh. I'm adopted." 

Clark stiffens, but only for a moment. Long enough, really -- 

"That's really the only possible answer to the question I asked her. And it would explain... a great deal. Please put me down." 

"Tim..." 

"I can't ask you to --" 

"I *want* to." 

"Oh. Are you... aroused?" 

Clark draws back -- apparently solely to show Tim his confused expression. 

"I mean... ah. Well. That was what I meant." 

"I'm not... there are other sorts of touches..." Clark frowns. "Let me try again." 

"Of course." 

Clark strokes Tim's hair, and his hand is huge, and warm -- 

Tim shivers and tries to stiffen himself without *tensing* -- 

"It's all right. Anything -- everything you feel." 

She didn't *look* at him -- 

"Tim, I need you to -- am I making you uncomfortable?" 

"I'm... somewhat uncomfortable in general." 

Clark nods and searches his eyes -- and doesn't stop stroking him -- 

He's supposed to actually answer the question. He's -- "You're not... making me uncomfortable. No." 

Clark smiles ruefully. "I'm glad. Do you understand that I'd like to be with you right now?" 

"But... not sexually." 

"No, Tim. Though..." Clark's smile gets somewhat more... rueful. 

"Um. Yes?" 

"I believe this is where I admit that I'm rarely more than a few moments away from being ready to make love." 

Tim -- blinks. A lot. He -- "You... I suppose you did imply that... before." 

Clark nods again, and whispers -- 

And, abruptly, there's a very large couch behind them. It seems to have been built on a one-point-five-to-one scale -- 

Though it only looks a *little* large once Clark is sitting on it. Of course. 

"Did you want --" No, he can think. "You'd like me to... join you." 

Clark smiles. "Please." 

Tim nods and does just that. Clark is sitting on something of a diagonal. A *suggestive* -- 

Tim sits next to Clark and wedges himself somewhat between Clark's thigh and the back of the couch before leaning back against his chest. He feels *ridiculous* and he *knows* he looks like a beet -- 

"Thank you," Clark says, and wraps an arm around Tim's waist. 

Tim frowns. "You're... sure about this." 

"That I'd like to be close to you? Yes, very much so." 

"Because -- I'm not -- I won't have a... breakdown. Or anything like that." 

"You probably should." 

Tim suspects he's frowning enough to look *thunderous* -- he stops that -- 

And Clark strokes his cheek. "Tim..." 

"How. How did *you* know I was adopted?" 

"Are you sure that you want --" 

"I'm sure," Tim says quickly, and turns enough that he can see Clark's eyes. "Please." 

*Clark* frowns and nods, and strokes Tim's cheek with the backs of his fingers. "It was the way she used the word 'son'. I checked your DNA." 

Tim blinks. "You... but of course you can do that with your vision." 

Clark smiles ruefully. "It's not something I care to advertise. Most people don't want to know about all the... ah... wildlife living on and in them." 

Tim... swallows. And then does it again. And then -- 

Well, he doesn't have to scratch himself as if he has *fleas* -- 

Does he have fleas? Is that even *possible*? He doesn't -- 

All right, now he's definitely squirming, and that's not optimal -- 

Clark coughs. 

"*What*? I mean -- ah. Ah. I'm sorry --" 

"It's quite all right. I just wanted you to know that the AI sterilized your... ah... outer surfaces as soon as we arrived." 

Tim blinks more. That's -- "Oh. Can I..." Tim looks around for a console or -- anything remotely familiar -- but Clark had just spoken to it. "Ah... thank you very much, AI." 

"You are welcome. Kal-El, this one wishes to know how the human is to be addressed." 

Clark looks at him just as if -- 

No, he can -- he can be -- something other than just... a jittering mass of neuroses. "The AI -- ah. He? She?" 

"'It' is the most proper pronoun for it in English." 

Tim frowns. "I'd like to learn other languages... quickly." 

"I'd be happy to begin teaching you Kryptonian whenever you'd like. But...?" 

Tim swallows again. "Ah... you should feel free to use my name, AI. Tim --" 

"Human-designate Tim Drake. This one wishes to know when you will begin your training in the Language and proper protocol." 

"Ah... soon?" 

Clark coughs again. "We'll discuss that at another time, AI. For now..." He turns back to Tim. "Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

He'd been planning to get a snack before the board meeting -- Tim frowns again. He's not exactly hungry anymore. "No. Thank you. I don't -- how am I going to... ah." Tim blushes and looks down at his knees. 

"Tim...?" 

"I don't... have very many marketable skills. I've... never had a job --" 

"*Tim*. You don't have to --" Clark shakes his head and *moves* Tim until Tim is straddling his lap and facing him -- 

"Clark --" 

"I am in no way as wealthy as your parents, but I *assure* you that..." Clark frowns. "You don't have to worry about earning your *keep*." 

"Ah -- when we met, you weren't looking for a *son*." 

"I'm still not. I find myself..." Clark smiles ruefully. "I'm not sure if I'll *ever* be mature enough to be a parent, Tim. Especially since, at some point, I'd have to stop making love to people my theoretical child's *age*." 

Tim coughs and -- yes, his eyes are crossing. 

"Yes, do make *that* sound more often. The truth is that I don't know exactly what will wind up being the best situation for you --" 

"I can -- you don't have to take *care* of me --" 

"I'd *like* to. Oh, Tim, did you think --" And Clark -- growls. And squeezes Tim's shoulders very hard. "If *you* wish to go somewhere else, you may. I only ask that you don't leave me... leave me forever." 

It would be ridiculous to rub at his chest just because his heart is pounding -- 

Clark does this to him *effortlessly* -- 

"Yes, Tim, *think* about it. You've had only days and *moments* to get to know me, but I've had *years*." 

"That -- I don't think I *can* really comprehend... that." 

Clark's smile isn't a particularly happy one, but he nods. "All right. Perhaps... perhaps you can simply trust me that I *do* wish to spend time with you? A great deal of it?" 

"But -- by that measure, you already *have* spent a lot of time with me, Clark." 

"True... but truly nowhere close to a 'great deal'." 

Tim narrows his eyes. "You're not going to tell me how long that is." 

Clark bites his lip. "Probably not, no." 

Tim hums despite himself -- 

"Oh -- lovely. Are you sure the AI can't get you something to eat?" 

"It's not a *servant*, Clark --" 

"It's a *monitor*-servant. On Krypton, AIs such as it did nearly everything for their owners, from cleaning to cooking to teaching their children -- once those children were old enough to leave the crèche, of course. Many people even chose to make their AIs their lovers." 

Tim... stares. 

Clark looks innocent. 

Tim -- has an entirely new reason to bite his lip -- 

And Clark laughs softly. "I haven't. I was entirely scandalized when the AI informed me of that... ah... function when I was eighteen. In truth, I still am." 

"This one believes that is a function of your years among... humanity." 

"You're almost certainly correct, AI. For which I am *thankful*." 

"This one --" 

Clark gestures sharply -- 

"Yes, Kal-El. This one will wait and watch." 

Clark closes his eyes and smiles... softly, somehow. It makes him seem older than his age. *Much* older. 

Tim represses a shiver -- 

And Clark opens his eyes immediately, searches him -- 

"I. You seemed... older," Tim says, and feels like an *idiot* -- 

Clark takes Tim's hands in his own. "I feel older in this place than I do anywhere else. Sometimes... sometimes I need that. Now isn't one of those times, however, and my apartment in Metropolis --" 

"Oh -- I mean. Ah. You don't think it would be strange for me to be seen there?" 

Clark smiles ruefully. "It would be... were you to be seen together with me while I was dressed like a civilian. But... time alone in my home wouldn't be... untoward?" 

Tim licks his lips. "I'd like. I don't mind you seeming... older." 

"You'd rather stay here? You're... curious?" 

Tim squeezes Clark's hands and feels daring, strange, *different* -- "I'd like. I'd like to learn more about you." 

Clark smiles *slyly*. "Did you think you wouldn't in Metropolis?"

Well. "I *think*... ah. I think that everywhere you go regularly has a different part of you." 

Clark hums with *obvious* pleasure, and *starts* to tug Tim closer -- he stops. "I started telling you about that before --" 

"*Why* did my parents adopt me? Oh. I. Obviously, you don't know that -- never mind -- I don't know why -- and you're hugging me again." 

"I have to say, Tim, that it's something which will happen fairly often." 

"I -- Clark --" 

"You feel very... mm. And you use entirely wonderful shampoo. Bruce uses the same brand when he's going out as 'Brucie Wayne.'" 

"I know -- I mean. Ah. I liked the scent," Tim says, and... shifts. Just enough to feel Clark more -- 

Clark sighs and kisses his temple -- 

Tim shivers -- and remembers what they were talking about. "I. I don't think. They didn't *want* children. The only reason why -- well, obviously they *didn't* have me --" Tim growls and pushes his face against Clark's shoulder before he can think about it -- 

And then Clark's hand is on the back of his head, holding him there, holding him close -- "Relax, please...?" 

"Um." Tim... breathes himself down. 

"Thank you. There's no doubt in my mind that you were as exceptional an infant as you are a teenager." 

That. "How... young...?" 

"What...? Oh. Ah. Only the pubescent and older," Clark says, and kisses Tim's temple again. "I have no sexual interest in anyone younger than that." 

"Do you know *why* you're... ah...?" 

"I wasn't sexually abused as a child, if that's what you mean." 

"Well. Are you sure?" 

Clark leans back and smiles at him. "Tim. I remember every moment of my life from the time the ship woke me out of stasis and I wandered out into a somewhat singed cornfield." 

"But --" 

"*Every* moment. Including every dream I've ever had. My time sense when I'm asleep is imperfect, but... I feel confident just the same," Clark says, and his eyes crinkle at the edges endearingly. "Sometimes ephebophilia -- and other sorts of things -- just happen. Though rather more often in this community than in most others." 

Tim makes a face. He can't really help it, because -- "It might have something to do with how the younger superheroes dress -- ah." 

Another sly smile. "Are they 'asking for it', Tim?" 

Tim suspects he looks queasy -- 

And Clark is laughing at him. Gently, but still.

"Clark --" 

"I do know that wasn't what you meant, Tim. I assure you, Bruce is horrified on a *nightly* basis by what Jay chooses to wear to fight crime... and he felt the same when it was Dick's choice." 

"But why does he *let* them?" 

"After a certain point, every hero with a partner must decide where to draw the line between partnership and subordination. Believe it or not, Bruce has had far better luck with that than *any* of the other heroes." 

"He..." Tim frowns again, but -- "He has to let them make their own choices, even when those choices are *insane*?" 

"In a word... yes. Though Jay, at least, will almost certainly request a uniform which... ah... hides more of him soon." 

"How can you be sure?" 

Clark smiles at a memory. "He told me a rather funny story about what happened when he saved several rather conservatively *devout* young people from armed robbers. Apparently, the amount of *confused* sexual tension in the air afterward was more than he could take. He actually *blushed*." 

"I... would love to have a picture of that." 

"You *could* have rather more than a picture, Tim." 

Tim blushes, and suspects *he's* adding to the amount of confused sexual tension Clark knows about -- "I -- I can't talk about that." 

"Yet...?" 

Tim looks down and nods.

Clark sighs -- but it doesn't seem impatient or frustrated. Just... pleasured. 

Tim looks up again and searches him -- but Clark is only looking at *him*. Studying him again just as if -- 

Clark cares about him. Clark -- 

All of that subjective *time* -- 

Tim leans in and kisses Clark's cheek again -- 

"Oh, thank you. But...?" 

"I..." Tim swallows and shakes his head. "I was thinking... about your feelings. For me." 

"I'd love to tell you all about them --" 

"Oh -- don't. Please. I don't think -- I'm not sure I could take that, either." 

Clark nods and cups Tim's face. "Only this: I'm vastly enjoying your company." 

"I... don't suppose you'll let me know if that stops?" 

Clark frowns and strokes Tim's cheekbones with his thumbs. "Has there been much -- no, I don't think I truly need to ask that question." 

"What -- oh. No. She -- she was never --" 

"Like that, Tim?" 

"She never treated me with --" Disrespect. "She always --" Cared. "She --" But Tim feels his expression -- 

It feels like he's crumpling himself up like -- like *paper* -- 

And the hug is immediate and warm, and tight -- "She's my *mother*, Clark --" 

"The only one you've known." 

"Yes. Yes. And -- obviously I wasn't wanted in the *first* place --" 

"Or, perhaps, your birth parents hoped that you would have a better life with someone other than them." 

Tim opens his mouth -- and then thinks about who he's speaking with. And then winces -- 

And Clark laughs softly again, *gently* again. "It's perfectly natural to have thoughts like those, Tim. I had them myself." 

"I... imagine they were even more... ah... acute." 

Another laugh, and this one is more -- firm, somehow. Clark pulls back and grins at him. "I did, in fact, wonder *extensively* about what sorts of things could've made my parents *shoot me into space*." 

Tim bites his lip. "And -- maybe it might have had something to do with the strange and frightening powers you were developing?" 

"Oh, yes," Clark says, and makes it sound like a compliment on Tim's *cleverness* somehow -- "I spent many, many hours wondering if I would grow into some sort of monstrous tyrant, or if I would only -- 'only' -- hurt my loved ones the way I had when I was a toddler and couldn't control my strength." 

"I... feel really very pathetic now." 

"Please don't. Or, rather, please consider how you would feel about a friend who found him or herself in your position." 

"Cuddled by a gently amorous and incredibly beautiful superhero?" 

"Thank you, *but*," Clark says, and looks at him... oddly. Hm. 

"Are you... looking at me from over a pair of imaginary glasses?" 

"Ah -- yes, actually. Clark Kent wears absolutely terrible ones." 

"As a *disguise*?" 

"As a general rule, human Americans tend to believe men in glasses -- especially terribly-unflattering ones -- are smaller than they are. *Weedier* than they are. If one adds to that a certain bumbling, wide-eyed earnestness and poor posture..." Clark raises an eyebrow. 

"I... I can see what you're saying, but --" 

And, abruptly, he's sitting on the couch again, alone this time, and Clark is in front of him in an obviously-cheap business suit, terrible plastic glasses -- one lens is hopelessly smudged -- and loafers which look almost *beaten*. His hair looks *shellacked* in place. He's not quite wringing his hands, and he's not quite *slouching*, but -- 

But. 

"I take your point," Tim says, and smiles ruefully. "Really, I should've known, considering how hard a time I have seeing Batman when I look at Brucie Wayne." 

"Oh, do you know him? He's really quite famous!" And he -- Clark *Kent* -- blinks rapidly. 

Tim... suspects he looks horrified. 

Clark coughs -- straightening up and tucking the glasses away -- 

And, suddenly, he's dressed in... other clothes. 

A black bodysuit that covers him from the top of his throat to the soles of his feet, and... something like a headband in red and gold -- no, there's a very, very thin blue stripe between the red and gold. His hair is neat, but not oiled or gelled. The style makes it look shorter than it is. His posture has gone from pathetic to heroic -- or. 

Hm. No, not that. Not that, at all. His posture is *dominant* -- almost *domineering* -- and his expression is almost cold. Or... no. His expression is too *covetous* to be truly cold, too hungry, too entitled too... everything. He -- 

"Kal-El?" 

He smiles *hotly*. "This is the proper private dress for a Kryptonian of my station -- and House, Tim Drake. As you have become mine, you are entitled to proper clothes of your own." 

"Ah. 'Yours'?" 

"Would you disobey so quickly, fine one...?" And that smile is *dangerous* -- and more than a little *frightening*.

Tim draws himself back internally and raises an eyebrow -- 

And Clark is crouching in front of the couch -- close enough to touch but *not* doing so -- in a plain white t-shirt and a pair of well-used jeans. It *is* Clark -- that much is clear from the rueful worry in his eyes and his lightly-mussed hair -- or. 

Tim hadn't seen his hair mussed before. He starts to reach out -- stops himself -- 

And Clark kisses his fingertips. "I didn't mean to... ah... offend? But perhaps you can see the distinctions I've placed somewhat more easily now? Why I didn't want you to call me Kal?" 

"I -- I do. But..." Tim shakes his head. "I've seen you... not as Superman?"

"I've worn the uniform only for necessity. Superman is... well. You have pictures of him, don't you?" 

*Some* of the earnestness of Clark Kent, *some* of Kal-El's grace... but everything is milder and non-threatening. Hm. "What happens when Superman gets angry?" 

"Ah... bad things? No, I'm sorry. Superman, such as he is, isn't *allowed* to ever become truly angry. No one really wants to see that happen. Do you see?" 

Tim bites his lip and nods. "I do, yes. But... oh. Kal comes out?" 

"Oh, yes. And tends to make rather a mess. Of course... of course, they're all *me*. I've studied dissociative disorders, and I lack the missing time and the sense that my... ah... fragments are truly whole people. It's just been easier to let certain aspects of my personality lie fallow save when they're... appropriate. Or when I can be alone with someone both allowed to know my secrets and about whom I care deeply." 

His heart is pounding again. He -- "Like... me." 

Clark's smile is crooked and warm. "I *will* make you believe that, Tim. But... ah. All of me is available at your request. I'm really rather invested in having you be comfortable with me. And happy." 

"This. This is fine. I mean -- good. Better --" Tim blushes and curls his fingers in against the couch. 

Clark stares at his hands. "You didn't answer my... thought experiment." 

"What -- oh. What I would think of a friend in my situation. I... I have nothing to complain about --" 

"Would he? Or she." 

"I. It's just that I've always known -- I mean. Not everyone's parents can be like -- my parents have their own lives. And -- they've always provided for me." 

"Even now...?" 

"Well, they could've sold me to a far less *attractive* child molester," Tim says, and he's aware that he's more *snarling* than speaking, but -- 

But Clark is laughing somewhat painfully. 

"I'm -- I'm sorry. I know what you're trying to do, and -- I know what you're trying to do." 

Clark nods solemnly despite the light in his eyes -- 

The *pleasure* he takes from Tim -- 

"Tim. Fine one..." Clark kisses the backs of Tim's hands before pulling back once more. "Everything you feel is allowed. Anything you *come* to feel is allowed --" 

"Clark --" 

"Here, in our home, there is no one to make the rules but the two of us," Clark says, and seems to almost be *willing* Tim to -- to -- 

"Our..." Tim shakes his head and draws back -- 

And Clark -- it *is* Clark -- says something in a language Tim can't guess at. It's low, and fluid, and somehow *round* -- save that it ends with something like a *bite*. 

"That's -- Kryptonian?" 

Clark nods, and never looks away from Tim's eyes, never *blinks* -- "A promise, fine one. A promise to always -- *always* -- do everything in my power to be there for you. To help you, and... raise high your dreams and wishes..." Clark shakes his head. "It's difficult to translate. This, Tim. This is our home now. All of my homes are yours." 

"*Clark* --" 

"Did you think I enter into contracts like this lightly, Tim...?" 

"My mother hardly gave you any *choice*. I -- I'll stipulate that you like me, but that just makes it --" Tim shakes his head. "Of course you'd want to help me --" 

"I could've done that in other ways." 

"I -- what?" 

Clark smiles -- sadly. 

Tim clutches the couch -- no. He doesn't have to -- "What. What do you mean?" 

"In this moment, I only wonder... would you feel better if you came to the answers yourself? Would they seem more real? Would it be easier for you to keep your good opinions of me?" 

Tim frowns and shakes his head in confusion, but -- 

Oh. 

"You. You had recordings." 

"Yes. I still have them, of course." 

"And... they could be -- my mother has no way to protest the way you choose to edit them." 

Clark nods. 

"You could've -- you could've taken them to the police." 

Clark smiles sadly again. 

"You still can. You --" Tim swallows and frowns. "You did this -- you were... happy?" 

"To have an excuse? A part of me, yes. Sometimes I believe I only hate the parts of me which are Superman because they're so much better than I am. Than I am capable of," Clark says, and this sigh is less pleasured than... resigned? Pained? *Darkly* rueful? "I could've asked Bruce for advice, of course. He would've told me *which* police officers to speak to in order to best... ah... expedite your case. And then *he* would've taken you in. It wouldn't have taken long. It took him weeks to get custody of Dick, but he's learned a lot of tricks since then. Jay never had to spend a single night in a group home." 

"I'm not --" 

"Ready? Perhaps not, but it wouldn't have mattered. Bruce could never..." Clark shakes his head. "It will only be a matter of time before he begins asking pointed questions about -- no. No, of course I won't ever lie to *you*. I told him your name, and what you knew. Not why you knew it, nor of the desires in your heart and beautiful body --" 

"Beautiful -- I -- *Clark* --" 

"When you... when you turned away from me..." Another smile. "I'll make no excuses. I was planning to use Bruce to... plead my case, perhaps. He's my best friend in the world -- in the *galaxy*. I believe he'd try very, very hard not to fall in love with you before making an effort on my behalf. Though I confess I have no idea what that effort would've turned out to be." 

Tim frowns and crosses his arms -- no, he's hugging himself, and he really -- 

He can't do that. That just doesn't -- 

"Can I trust you?" 

"To love you. To keep the secrets that don't impact on anyone else -- and perhaps some of the ones which do. To warm you however you allow. To need you --" Clark shakes his head. "I know I'm... moving much too fast. I know that I'm allowing you no time to get your bearings. I know you're young, and inexperienced, and *traumatized* --" 

"I'm not --" 

"You truly are. Ah... perhaps you'll trust my experience?" 

Tim swallows and nods once. 

"Thank you. I only... no, there's nothing I 'only' want to do with you. This is your home now, Tim, for just as long as you wish it to be so -- and far beyond that time, as well. You also have a home at Thirty-Eight Thirty-Eight Schuster Boulevard, apartment Fifteen-F." 

"In -- Metropolis." 

"Yes. Bruce purchased another apartment for my... ah... *alias* in Metropolis, but I'm not at all sure if 'Pete the Penman' would be any less suspicious with a sudden fourteen-year-old boy than Clark Kent would. Tim... tell me what you need right now?" 

That... 

That's a great question, really. If he could answer it, then he could... something. Have it, maybe. 

("Son.") 

What are his biological parents like? Would they ever -- 

They gave him *up*. They -- 

And he's *fourteen*. It's not like -- he's not a child. He doesn't need a Mommy and a Daddy to tuck him in at night and read him stories and -- 

And there's something of a blank space, something where an emotion would go if it weren't too big to be comprehended or -- 

The space behind his eyes and nose is so -- 

And Clark isn't hugging him. He isn't. 

Tim is *alone* on this giant *fucking* couch and -- 

Tim looks up -- and Clark is *incrementally* closer, and his hands are balled into fists, and he looks like he wants to do something extremely violent to someone and he looks like -- like -- 

"Clark..." 

"Yes?" 

"Do you. Do you want." Tim squeezes his eyes shut and -- he's hugging himself. He has to stop that. He has to -- 

"I'm sorry, I can't --" 

And then Clark *is* hugging him, and stroking him -- 

He has Tim on his *lap* -- 

He's *rocking* Tim like -- "I'm not that *young* --" 

"I'm sorry, I'm so --" Clark *stops* rocking him, but he doesn't let go, and, if anything, he strokes Tim more firmly, more -- 

No one has ever -- 

Even *Dick* only hugged him a *few* times -- 

His parents -- 

What will his father *say* about this? How -- how long before he *notices* Tim isn't there? 

And there's another blank for that, and it feels huge, black, *yawning* -- 

Tim gives into it and pushes his face against Clark's shoulder.


	5. Totally better than crying.

Clark is in the middle of *gently* encouraging several freshly-tranquilized escaped gorillas -- who smell suspiciously of artificial testosterone -- into the sturdy Animal Control vans the SCU had paid for after that incident at the Metropolis Zoo with the growth ray, when the AI speaks his name. 

Clark changes his communicator's channel accordingly -- _{Speak.}_

_{This one wishes to inform you that human-designate Tim Drake has begun crying. This one does not believe he is aware of this yet.}_

Oh... 

It's been three days of careful conversation and the hugs Tim accepts with steadily greater degrees of relaxation -- 

Three days of introducing Tim to the freshest fruits and vegetables, as well as to the meals his Ma had made for him that he keeps tucked away in stasis. 

Three days of watching Tim *stutter* internally as he trips over everything his mother had *done* to him -- 

That *woman* -- 

And Jack Drake *had* responded to the news with a gratifying anger -- enough that Clark had felt both hope and *fear* -- but once Janet had told him about Tim's homosexuality... 

Clark doesn't know *what* he's going to say when Tim asks about the man. And he *must* ask. He's a *naturally* inquisitive boy, brilliant and sharp -- 

But, of course, he could very well be brilliant enough to already know. To... 

Clark swallows back his own *useless* anger and turns to the next gorilla, who has managed to acquire an ice cream cart. The vendor had undoubtedly fled -- 

_{Offer Tim Drake soft towels, water, and juice. Inform him that I will return as soon as possible.}_

_{This one obeys.}_

_{You continue to serve well. Kal-El out.}_

Clark finishes as quickly as possible, then lifts Jimmy into the sky -- 

"Whoa! What's up, Supes?" 

"The gorillas were drugged. Almost certainly with the sort of steroids... well." He sets Jimmy down on the roof of the Planet. 

"Nasty stuff?" 

"I believe so, yes. Some of the gorillas had the sort of circulatory damage that speaks of long-term abuse." 

"Damn, who would -- oh. This is where I go talk to Lois, yeah?" 

Superman smiles benignly. "Please do. I'd very much like to see whoever abused those poor apes brought to justice." 

Jimmy grins and salutes him with jaunty casualness. "Anything you say, man. *Do* you have any idea where to start?" 

"Labs. The combination of scents is... distinctive." 

"Cool. We'll let you know when we have something." 

"Thank you kindly," Superman says, and flies without doing *anything* like playing connect the dots with his tongue with the freckles on Jimmy's thighs. Clark congratulates himself once more on his restraint and flies faster, faster -- 

Tim's tears are nearly *silent* --

And Clark forces himself to take the time to change out of the uniform before he goes to Tim, lifting him into his arms -- 

"*Oh* -- I'm okay --" 

"Of course," Clark says, because it's easier than arguing. He checks -- Tim had had the AI form a console for his use. The AI would almost certainly prefer a learning pod -- and permission from Kal to use the concentration- and memory-enhancing drugs -- but this is more than adequate. Clark forms a couch for them and sits, arranging Tim on his lap. "Will you tell me your thoughts?" 

"I -- they weren't -- I wasn't thinking of my parents," Tim says, and he certainly *believes* that. 

Clark frowns and strokes Tim's hair, and the back of his neck, his back -- 

"I was thinking -- I was just thinking about. School." 

"Oh. Yes?" 

Tim nods, dragging his face against Clark's shoulder. "I'd. I'd thought of letting my mother send me to Eston this fall." 

"With Jay." 

"And the sons and daughters of my parents' colleagues..." Tim tenses -- and relaxes himself. "She wanted -- she used to want -- oh, God --" 

And there's a question for this, a *wonder* -- 

Does he know that he's clutching Clark's t-shirt? That he's tugging at it and digging his knees against Clark's thighs? 

Does he know that he's scrubbing his face against Clark's shoulder? 

Does he *care* -- 

The attraction is always present now, something of a low-grade hum against Clark's senses, a promise that they can have so *much*. Clark can wait for that as long as he must, but -- 

But a part of him is only angry with the rest, only *berating* the rest for not *letting* Bruce take Tim, letting Bruce keep him, and thus be the one Tim would feel the need to be grateful to. It would be *clean* between them then, free and open and -- 

Not easy. It could never be *easy*, but -- 

He could still do it. It would take some maneuvering, some...

Kal-El could have the Drakes offer their child for public adoption, have them talk about their mistakes, their *fears* of being inappropriate parents for Tim, speak about their friendship with *Superman* -- 

And then, some weeks later, Bruce Wayne could quietly adopt another child. Dick would come back from New York to welcome Tim to the family, and Barbara would play incredibly violent video games with him, and Jay could teach him -- 

Jay could teach him of love. *Would* teach him of love, because every girl he spends any *significant* amount of time with at school tends toward quiet intellect and warmth. Jay returns that warmth in kind, and is gentle *and* kind with them. Jay -- 

It's terribly wrong to already be jealous of a fifteen-year-old boy -- he won't be sixteen for another *month* -- who has never even *met* Tim -- 

And Tim's tears are hot and damning, though only because Clark wishes to taste them, to know their differences from Tim's sweat -- 

Clark represses his arousal and whispers platitudes in Kryptonian. They're no more profound than they would be in English, but Tim responds to the tones with further relaxation... and an awakening of curiosity. 

He will give Tim every *hint* of mystery -- 

He's so *beautiful* -- 

And he is ruthlessly, *viciously* regulating his breathing. He will, almost certainly, wish to pull away soon. Someone with issues like Tim's... 

Yes, there will be embarrassment -- and that embarrassment may be strong enough to bring *anger* at himself. 

Clark prepares himself for it, and continues to whisper of home, of safety, of love --

Has Bruce begun watching the Drakes, yet? 

Has he noticed Tim's absence? 

What will *he* say? Will it be dry enough to abrade? 

Tim pulls back and frowns -- yes, angrily. "I'm sorry about that." 

"Tim --" 

"I'm -- I'm aware that you think I have nothing to apologize for, Clark, but I'd like to point out that I've just *leaked* all over you." 

Well. Clark raises an eyebrow. "You seem to be implying that I would find that sort of behavior distasteful." 

Tim sniffs -- 

Blinks -- 

And blushes quite adorably. "I don't think -- um. I don't think it... compares. Could I have --" 

_{A towel, please.}_

_{Yes, Kal-El.}_

Clark hands Tim the towel and indulges himself by neatening Tim's hair at an entirely human speed while Tim neatens the rest of himself. "Have you ever had the privilege of comforting a friend, Tim?" 

For some reason, that makes Tim smell *ashamed* -- 

"Oh, Tim --" 

"I don't -- people don't -- I'm not good at that. And... everyone knows that." And Tim wrings the towel between his hands for a moment -- stops. "Should I give this to the AI to be sterilized or... recycled?" 

"The AI will choose which is the most efficient way. And Tim... please think about whether or not you would've *wanted* to offer comfort." 

"Of course. But --" Tim frowns and drops the towel for the AI to absorb into itself. "It's not that I think I'm -- special." 

"You are." 

Tim frowns at *him*. 

Clark smiles. "You're going to have to give me room to care for you, Tim. I'm afraid that's non-negotiable." 

The frown becomes positively *acerbic* --

"And you remind me of Bruce when you look like that." 

Tim blinks. "I -- really?" 

"Oh, yes. He can be... well. Very dry. To get back to the topic at hand: there's nothing wrong -- and quite a few things right -- with your tears. And I'm grateful that you've given them to me." 

"I." Tim tugs at his own t-shirt -- it's for a band Clark had only heard of because of a terrible fire in a decidedly underground club -- and frowns even more deeply. 

It had been a pleasure to remove all of Tim's belongings from that house. "Yes, Tim?" 

"It's only. Would you ever want me to comfort *you*?" 

Clark raises an eyebrow. "Would you ever wish to?" 

"*Yes* --" 

"Would you ever wish to for more reason than out of a sense of fairness?" 

"Of course!" And Tim is blushing again just that quickly, just -- 

His heart is pounding -- 

And he's doing that curious thing again, that strange *fraction* of a motion as he tries to still himself *and* move closer -- 

"Every time you do that, I ache," Clark says -- it's almost a *blurt* - 

And the blush becomes a flush -- 

"You care for me, Tim. You..." Clark smiles and cups Tim's lovely face -- 

And Tim leans in and presses his mouth to Clark's own. He's shaking -- almost *shivering* -- and the scent of his arousal is growing, *deepening* -- 

And Clark kisses him for the first time, the first time *truly*. He holds Tim close and tastes his mouth slowly, moaning for the taste of apricot Turkish delights he'd picked up on a whim, for the *fact* that he'd chosen something which pleased -- 

Tim jerks back. "Oh -- I didn't mean. Ah." 

"It's all right --" 

"I didn't mean to *stop*," Tim says, and his laugh is -- too brittle. 

Clark forces the lion's share of his physical arousal *back*, though he leaves himself erect. Erect enough that Tim can feel him. "That's all right, too," he says, and strokes Tim's hair, and cheekbones, and chin. 

Would Bruce dress Tim in old-fashioned lingerie? Could Tim ever enjoy such a thing? It's not strictly to *Clark's* taste -- he's never wanted to have sex with Bruce's late mother -- but he has to admit that there is very little indeed which he wouldn't try for Tim. But... 

It's a question he can ask. Or rather, it has the *shape* of questions he can ask. It's information he wants -- needs with more than just the parts of himself which *can* ache in this way -- and it's something which may help *remove* some of the brittleness. "Tim... may we speak about sex?" 

Tim blushes and tenses -- and doesn't lean in. 

"It's all right if the answer is no --" 

"No! I. I mean. I'm not sure that you want to... talk," Tim says, and reaches slowly for Clark's groin. 

Clark catches Tim's hand equally slowly -- though well before he can touch. "I do. I'm hoping... well. It could make you feel more comfortable. And I'd like to know everything about you." 

"My... fantasies?" 

Clark sighs somewhat helplessly. "Yes. Please. And the things you *don't* desire, as well." 

"I don't know -- I haven't -- I haven't." 

"It's all right. Nothing you say today -- or ever -- is set in stone, Tim. But if there's something which seems distasteful...?" 

Tim licks his lips, and the heat in his eyes... 

"Or... tasteful?" 

A snort -- 

A blush -- 

"I've... I've thought a lot about fellatio. Um. Sucking people off." 

Clark lifts Tim's hand to his mouth and kisses it. "Please, use the terms you're most comfortable with." 

"Do you -- you talk about sex with Jason." 

"I talk about sex with as many people as possible, Tim." 

Tim *giggles* -- claps a hand over his mouth and glares at Clark. 

"I'm afraid I can't apologize for making you make that noise," Clark says, and kisses Tim's fingers again. "Please." 

Tim shifts and blushes more deeply. "I've thought about... fellating you." 

"Have you enjoyed my scent, Tim?" 

Tim nods. "I've wondered... is it similar to your taste?" 

"Very much so, to humans. They seem quite different to my senses." 

Tim licks his lips. "I want. I'd want to... take it all." 

"Have you --" No, Clark knows he *hasn't*. Or -- "Have there been... toys?" 

"I -- um. A highlighter. I think... a real penis would be easier?" 

Clark sighs again and shivers. "In some ways, almost certainly." 

Tim moans again, shifts -- and presses close. "You're. You're so warm." 

"Have you thought about... my hands on you?" 

"Yes." 

Clark squeezes Tim's hand. "Will you tell me where?" 

"I -- um. Everywhere. I mean -- everywhere," Tim says, and the stress is unmistakable, but Clark still needs -- 

"Perhaps... inside you?" 

Tim's flush seems almost painfully dark, and his penis is hard, human-warm through his chinos and simple briefs. 

"Please tell me, Tim. Please say it." 

"Yes. Yes -- inside me. I like it. I -- I touch myself that way." 

Not since he's been *here*, but -- "Perhaps you'd show me?" 

Tim blinks rapidly. "You'd like... that? A show?" 

"Very much so. Though only --" 

"If I were... comfortable?" 

Clark smiles and kisses Tim's fingers again. "Yes. Both Dick and Jay are... ah... showmen, in their different ways. Most of my lovers aren't, however." 

"Would you ever... reciprocate?" 

"Oh, yes. Though... I'd need you not to shutter your gaze. I'd need to see your desire." 

Another snort -- "I don't think that would be difficult to arrange." 

"You're really quite adept at hiding your deeper emotions, Tim --" 

"I'm *not*. Not from my -- um." Tim frowns, and the misery rises in him, the *hurt* -- 

Clark pulls him close and tugs until Tim wraps his arms around his neck -- 

"Oh -- this is. You like... this?" 

"Very much so. If you would...?" 

Tim squeezes him, very much experimentally, and Clark sighs happily. 

"Thank you. Please talk to me?" 

"I don't -- it's just the same *thing*, Clark." 

Clark kisses Tim's temple and begins stroking him. "Bruce once described a particularly painful moment to me as a 'dark jewel'. He can be a very poetic man -- far more so than I'll ever manage --" 

"*Really*?" 

Clark grins. "Oh, yes. A lover he had before he formally became the Batman introduced him to the art form -- to *passion* for the art form -- and he's been studying it ever since. Though, of course, I'm convinced that his lover wouldn't have bothered had Bruce not been so poetic in the first place." 

"Are you -- ah. Was it Silver St. Cloud?" 

"Of course you know that." Clark kisses Tim again. "Yes, it was. Sometimes, Bruce misses her very much, I think." 

Tim nods thoughtfully and pulls back to look Clark in the eye. "I'm sorry I interrupted you --" 

"It's entirely all right. I want your *interest*, Tim." 

"You -- you *have* it. But -- tell me more about the 'dark jewel'?" 

"I've always found it a very useful metaphor. Some moments are as faceted as a jewel -- or as the eye of an insect. Some moments change and almost *gleam* as you look at them from different angles, at different times. At other times, those moments can seem small, or even forgettable. But the jewel remains." 

"I... find myself wishing for an emotional Catwoman." 

Clark laughs helplessly. 

"Yes?" 

"Bruce said the very same thing, Tim." 

Tim blinks and blushes -- 

And Clark realizes that he's making Bruce more comprehensible to Tim, less *frightening*. That's all to the good, truly, but it's also quite frightening in ways which don't speak especially well of him. Just the same -- 

Just the same, he will keep doing exactly this. 

Clark cups Tim's face again and kisses his brow, and his chin, and his small, soft mouth. He does it softly, if never chastely, and when he pulls back, Tim is focused on him with both warmth and heat. _{Fine one. For you, my patience can be infinite.}_

"What does that mean?" 

"That waiting for you is no hardship. That every moment with you is worthwhile. That my desire -- my *ache* -- is pleasant." 

Tim flushes once more. "'Pleasant'?" 

"Warm. Sweet. I... have you ever had an injury which pleased you?" 

"Oh -- yes. From karate and judo." 

"Perhaps... a bruise you found yourself pressing on from time to time?" 

Tim bites his lip -- stops and nods. "I don't want to *bruise* you, Clark." 

"Would you like me to bruise you?" 

Wide-eyed hunger -- 

And the image of Tim naked and writhing fills his mind. His skin gleams with sweat, his lips are swollen and parted, and he's begging Clark to push, to thrust and *fill* as Clark grips his lean, lean hips. Clark licks his lips. "Please tell me." 

"Yes. I -- yes." 

_{Would you --}_ Clark shakes his head. "Would you wear the marks of love, fine one?" 

Tim groans, arousal *spiking* as he leans in to lick Clark's mouth, to nuzzle and *nibble*. 

"Tim --" 

"Don't wait, don't let me get -- get *sad* --" 

"You must --" 

"*No*," Tim says, and bites Clark's *lip* -- 

Clark grunts -- 

"Oh, *yes*," and Tim bites him again, again -- "Please. Please, I want --" 

"If you regret this --" 

"I *won't*. I want you, I need you -- *mm* --" 

Easy to flatten the couch into a bed, to lay Tim down on his back and hover as he kisses, as he *takes* Tim's mouth *slowly* -- 

And firmly --

And Tim begins to moan constantly, to *shake* for the feel of Clark's tongue, to *clutch* -- 

And pull. He -- 

Clark pulls back -- 

"No -- oh please --" 

"Do you want my weight, Tim?" 

"Oh, God, *yes* -- *hnh* --" 

"So beautiful. So -- fine one, do you *like* --" 

"Yes! Please, yes!" 

Clark gives himself a subjective moment to pant, to gasp in as much of Tim's scent as possible -- 

And then he kisses Tim harder. Not hard enough to bruise, but hard enough to force his head down against the bed, to hold and *keep*. Tim's hands are hard on Clark's shoulders -- 

Tim is clutching and humming and *moaning* -- 

*Struggling* beneath Clark -- but there's only pleasure in his scent, only hunger and something like the scent of *urging*. 

Clark thrusts carefully against Tim's long, lean thigh -- 

And Tim begins to cry out into his mouth. It starts rhythmically, but quickly devolves into a ragged wall of noise, beautiful noise, *hungry* noise -- 

Clark thrusts *harder* -- 

And Tim's eyes fly open as his scent deepens -- 

Tim gasps once -- 

He focuses on *nothing* -- 

And his orgasm is a thing of shudders and *strong* spasms. He -- 

Clark doesn't *tear* Tim's jeans and briefs off -- he merely tugs them down and out of the way -- but he swallows Tim whole, taking the last several spurts for his own -- 

Moaning and sucking *helplessly* as Tim screams -- 

And screams -- 

And slumps. Too soon. Not *enough* -- 

Clark suckles enough to be sure that Tim won't even *begin* to soften without deep emotional provocation, and then kisses his way back up Tim's body, hovering *only* enough to allow Tim to breathe. 

Tim looks as dazed as his scent suggests, eyes glassy and lips parted. 

Swollen. So -- "Fine one..." 

Tim whimpers and blinks, obviously trying to find his way back from pleasure. 

Clark strokes his hair and waits as patiently as he can. There are things which must be said, things which must be *understood*. 

Finally, long moments later, Tim moans and blinks more purposefully, then gazes up into Clark's eyes with -- wonder. 

Clark smiles helplessly and ruefully. "Fine one, I didn't intend --" 

"You should have," Tim says -- and blushes. "I mean. I mean. That was. Very good. Wonderful." 

Clark parts his own lips and leans in -- stops himself. 

"Clark?" 

Clark shakes his head. "You can always say no. You *should* always say no when you're unsure." 

Tim licks his lips. "I'd rather... be convinced." 

"Tim --" 

"Please," Tim says -- and blushes. "I mean. I think I mean that." 

"I would make love to you every day," Clark says, and knows his voice is much rougher than it usually is, much *lower* -- 

"Oh. Oh, Clark, I don't even know --" 

"What you mean to me?" 

"*Why* I mean what I mean to you." 

"You're brilliant, and witty, and warm, and loving, and the pain in you speaks to the pain in me. You're beautiful and innocent in ways your pain can't touch when your pain hasn't *compounded* the innocence. You are..." Clark smiles, and knows it's one of Kal's by the way Tim's heart rate increases even more than it already had. "Tim..." 

"I. I. Kal?" 

"You arouse every part of me, fine one. I would drink from your mouth. I would feed on that which you give. I would exalt us both with every touch. I..." Kal shakes his head. "The words are inadequate. They would be equally inadequate in Kryptonian," and Kal leans in to bite Tim's lip firmly. 

Tim jerks and stares -- 

"Tell me of your needs, fine one. Tell me of your *desires*." 

"Oh -- you. And -- I mean. I don't -- I'm *afraid* of you --" 

"Not very much as these things go, but yes, I can smell it. Is your arousal increasing because of the fear or despite it?" 

Tim blushes and winces -- 

"You cannot hide from me, fine one. You must not try --" 

And Tim's penis twitches very, very powerfully. 

Kal smiles and leans in to fuck Tim's mouth with his tongue, to *fill* Tim's mouth, to tease and promise -- 

Tim turns away. He -- 

"Tim --" 

"Please! Please, I don't -- it's not --" 

Kal frowns -- 

And Tim's fear rises far too much. Far -- 

Clark draws himself out and winces. "I'm sorry, Tim. It's not -- it's all right. Nothing you don't desire. *Nothing*." 

Tim stares up at him, searches him -- "I don't mean to be -- frightened." 

"It's entirely fair --" 

"I know you won't hurt me --" 

"Only the hurts which please you --" 

"Oh -- *fuck* --" Another twitch, the scent of fresh *sweat* -- 

And Clark narrows his eyes in helpless lust. "You may have those hurts from me, Tim." 

Tim nods slowly, dazedly -- 

"Beautiful, so..." Clark licks his lips again and shakes his head. "Tell me of the pain you've desired. Tell me as much as you *can*." 

"I. I watched Bruce and Jason." 

"Yes? Oh... the way Bruce bites Jay?" 

Tim *winces* with lust. "Jason. He -- he makes... a lot of noise." 

"He told me that he loves it when Bruce does that to him, that it drives him 'up a wall cock first.'" Clark grins. "He also told me that if *I* ever tried to do that to him, that there'd be a large green rock in my urethra." 

Blinks, confusion -- 

And Clark presses two fingers to Tim's soft mouth. "What we desire from one lover does not, necessarily, have anything to do with what we desire from other lovers." 

Tim swallows. "I think. I don't. I don't know if I could have more than... one lover." 

"Fine one, you shouldn't tempt me to hide you from the world even more," Clark says, and, truly, he's *mostly* joking -- 

And Tim raises an eyebrow. 

"Yes, Tim?" 

"Is that *possible*?" 

"We are, technically, still *on* the planet." 

Tim's eyes cross. Briefly, but still. 

Clark hums. "You're very young. While that will not stop me from making love to you in every way you allow, it *does* convince me that there is much you have to learn about your sexuality. Making decisions about such things at your age is a recipe for a *great* deal of future chagrin." 

Tim blushes. "I think I'd like to know what decisions *you* made at my age." 

"The one which comes to mind *most* readily... is the heartfelt decision I made to *always* seek out older men and women for lovers." 

Tim *snorts*. "Ah. I see." 

Clark grins more broadly. "I still do choose *some* people older than myself. Bruce, Diana, and Lois, among others, but... yes. Tell me your desires. Share with me?" 

"I -- what do *you* want?" 

"Everything --" 

"Right *now*." 

"To make you scream for me several more times... but I must admit that I'd like to do that with my fingers in your rectum. The images in my mind for it are... powerful." 

Another blush, wide eyes -- "You... fantasize about me." 

"Often," Clark says, and kisses Tim's chin, his cheek, his throat -- 

And his throat again when Tim gasps and shudders. 

"You're sensitive here." 

"I -- I suppose? Some people have tried to... to tickle me -- oh -- *ohn* -- oh, *Clark* --" 

"Very sensitive," Clark says, and doesn't bother to try to keep the relish out of his voice as he presses his tongue to Tim's flesh *firmly*, tasting the rhythm of his pulse, the jut of his Adam's apple -- 

He sucks there and Tim grunts, bucks -- and struggles to spread his legs. Clark hovers enough to allow it -- no. There's only so much Tim *can* spread his legs with his pants around his ankles. 

"It's all right, Tim --" 

"I -- I. That felt -- very good." 

Clark smiles and massages Tim's straining thighs at speed -- 

"*Oh* --" 

Clark kisses Tim firmly, briefly -- "Please tell me what you want?" 

"You -- the fingering. Please." 

Clark frowns. That *wasn't* a lie, but... "Do you only want that because I do?" 

Tim looks at him like he's mad, which is entirely gratifying -- 

"Oh... you've taken yourself. Perhaps with your highlighter?" 

"I... I couldn't help thinking about embarrassing -- mortifying -- trips to the emergency room. I used my fingers." 

Clark narrows his eyes and cups Tim's scrotum somewhat helplessly -- 

Tim moans and pants -- "Oh. Please." 

"I'd like..." Clark squeezes gently -- 

"Oh, Clark!" 

"Do you take yourself on your back?"

Tim nods a little frantically. "It's -- it's the easiest way to disguise what I'm doing. Um. Just in case." 

Clark narrows his eyes. "I would have you never hide from me." 

"I *have* to hide --" 

"No --" 

"Some-- sometimes. *Please*!" 

Clark frowns and nods, forcing himself to accept -- 

"Oh -- ohn -- *please* --" 

And Clark realizes that he's squeezing Tim's scrotum rhythmically, rubbing at the faint fuzz with his thumb -- 

Tim moans and tosses his *head* -- 

_{Beautiful, most-fine --}_ "You arouse me so much, Tim. You... I want your pleasure --" 

"You *have* it --" 

"Not *enough*. May I bare you?" 

In response, Tim sits up and begins struggling out of his t-shirt *while* trying to kick out of his simple trainers. It's another deeply gratifying moment, but Clark gives himself permission to help, leaving Tim naked on the bed, pink against the white fabric. 

Clark orders the AI to turn it the blue of the June sky over Smallville, instead -- 

And Tim gasps and strokes it with a curious smile, a *wondering* smile -- "Was I too pale for the white?" 

"I found it too stark against your skin. It leached away your beautiful flush," Clark says, and massages Tim's legs again before pausing and looking to Tim -- 

Who blushes -- but still spreads his legs with a smile. 

He's happy in this moment, and Clark wants to mention it -- wants to *celebrate* it -- but he knows the moment is too fragile. There are other celebrations. Clark orders the AI to give him lubricant and reaches -- 

"Oh -- wait --" And Tim bites his lip. 

"Tim?" 

"I. Um." 

"Please tell me. You -- there's nothing you can't tell me, Tim." 

Another, *deeper* blush -- "I. I want. To see you." 

A request *most* of his lovers -- *true* lovers who haven't inexplicably developed a desire for *Superman* -- make sooner or later, and he should've anticipated it. "I'm sorry," Clark says, and strips himself at speed before kneeling between Tim's legs again -- 

"Oh..." 

Clark smiles. "This is something you may have... really very often." 

"But -- you do like *wearing* clothes." 

"I do, yes, but it's far less... ah... important with someone like you, who doesn't need me to be more *one* iteration of self than any other." 

And Tim's eyes shine for that, for the moment -- 

For this moment in which Clark has made him feel some fraction as special as he is. Clark takes himself in hand -- 

And the shine in Tim's eyes becomes a gleam, a *glitter* of lust -- 

"Oh, yes, Tim?" 

"I want -- will you show me? A little -- I mean. I want to *make* you come, but..." And it's strange to see such *innocent* hope blended with a leer -- 

Strange and beautiful. Not many of his lovers have been innocent, for all that some few have been young. Clark smiles and strokes himself slowly, if not meditatively. He squeezes on every downstroke, wills himself to leak *copiously* -- 

And Tim moans and swallows wetly as he flushes, as he *sweats*. Clark lets his nostrils flare, lets his *eyes* flare as he opens himself to Tim, to his flavors on the air, the pound of his heart, the sound of his bare skin against the sheets as he shifts for... comfort? 

Need? 

And now Tim is watching his face, studying him for every reaction. Clark lets his lips part, licks them wet, licks his *teeth* -- 

And Tim tenses in *that* way, so full of *potential* -- 

"Come to me, Tim. Please." 

Tim moans and does it with human speed and *hungry* grace, though he doesn't touch. 

"Watch," Clark says, and nods toward his penis... and changes his rhythm while Tim watches. 

"Oh... Clark?" 

"Bruce strokes himself this way when he wishes to arouse Jay beyond all reason." 

Tim grunts -- and squeezes himself *viciously* hard.

"And here," Clark says, and changes his rhythm to rough, brutal strokes -- 

"Oh, Clark --" 

"This... this is how Dick strokes himself when he wishes to drive me mad --" 

"Oh, *God* --" 

"Or when he wishes to make Bruce... hurry." 

Wide eyes for that, a *shocked* stare... 

Clark smiles. "You've never seen them." 

"No, I. Do they -- are they still --" 

"Oh, yes. Though, of course, Dick lives in New York, now --" 

"*Why*? Why would he *leave*?" 

Clark raises an eyebrow. "He does have his team to consider, Tim." 

And Tim blinks so rapidly -- 

Blushes so deeply -- 

Clark laughs breathlessly. "Perhaps you're feeling... mm. Somewhat more ready for Bruce?" 

"I --" Tim shakes his head and squeezes Clark's wrist, stopping him more effectively than anything else -- short of disaster -- could in this moment. 

"Yes, Tim?" 

"When you. Will you show me how you. I mean. When you're thinking of me," and Tim doesn't quite meet Clark's eyes -- 

But Clark can't make himself wait. He uses his X-ray vision -- and Tim's eyes are still full of lust, but now there's some shame, as well -- 

And now the scent of it is rising. 

"Don't be ashamed of this, Tim, please --" 

"I shouldn't -- you're just trying to show me --" 

"I'm trying to arouse you to the point of... ah... pleasurable pain. I'm more than willing to do that while doing the same thing to myself," Clark says, and tilts Tim's face back up so that he can see Clark's smile. 

Tim searches him for a long moment -- and the shine comes back to his eyes, the wonder and *open* hunger. 

"Yes, Tim. Just -- just like that," Clark says, and fills his mind with images of Tim on his knees, on his back, straddling Clark's chest -- 

Clark's *face* -- 

And Clark closes his eyes and groans for it, stroking himself faster and faster -- 

"Oh -- *oh*!" 

"The friction -- the things I can do to myself... mm. No, feel," Clark says, and slows himself again with an effort. 

"I -- feel?" 

Clark smiles again. "Touch the head...?" 

Tim licks his lips and does so -- and yanks his hand away again when Clark uses his hand as a vibrator. 

"Ah... no?" 

"I -- I..." Tim bites his lip and doesn't look up -- but this time it's only because his focus is on Clark's penis. "Do you like... that?" 

"Not as much as I like *your* hand --" 

"You haven't -- I mean, you don't know --" 

"I've touched your hands many times, fine one," Clark says, and goes back to stroking himself. "I... mm. I'm capable of extrapolating. And dreaming." 

"Oh. Oh." And Tim reaches out slowly, slowly -- and wraps his hand around the head and some of the shaft. He begins to pant immediately, but... 

"Will you stroke?" 

"You. I want more." 

Clark sighs and thrusts into Tim's fist twice -- 

Four times -- 

*Several* times -- "Please." 

"I want --" 

"Take what you want, Tim. Please -- I do beg," Clark says, and feels his eyes becoming somewhat incandescent -- 

And confirms their state with the way Tim winces in slight pain when he looks up. 

"I'm sorry --" 

"It's okay! I mean -- ah." Tim licks his lips and studies Clark's mouth -- Clark's parted lips?

He looks down -- 

He *bends* down, and wraps his other hand around the shaft, and drags his hands *down* -- 

Clark shifts his own grip until he just has a hold on the base -- 

And Tim moans *just* before his tongue touches the head of Clark's penis, but the distinction seems small, low, *mean*. Nothing could be -- 

"Tim..." 

Tim nods vigorously -- *not* frantically -- and begins to lick Clark steadily, *hungrily* -- 

"Oh -- oh, that's wonderful, Tim --" 

And Tim looks up to *study* him -- 

He smells of *suspicion* --

Clark laughs. "Did you think I would lie about this? Perhaps I should tongue you in just this way --" 

Tim grunts and squeezes his eyes shut --

"Oh, beautiful. I promise I will. I -- mm. Mmm... I vastly enjoy tasting humans... lovely humans like you -- oh, sweet, sweet --" 

More moans and sucking kisses all over the head, moving down the shaft -- 

"Perhaps... perhaps you'll stroke, as well?" 

Tim *blushes* -- and does just that. He -- 

He has much, much harder hands than is typical for someone of his class, and he seems very much inclined toward using them to drive Clark insane. He -- 

Clark smiles and pants, pants and tries to take Tim *in*, take his scents of arousal and -- oh, still so much *wonder* -- 

"Making love... making love is my very favorite thing, as you may have guessed --" 

A giggle -- 

Another blush -- 

And Clark can't keep himself from grinning and doesn't bother to try. Tim is sucking incrementally harder with every kiss, opening his mouth just a little more *widely* -- 

It's a wonderful tease, and Clark is, he believes, intelligent enough not to say that aloud *yet*. He doesn't *want* to pressure Tim. For all that there have been *some* positive responses to that sort of thing, Tim's relief and pleasure in the gentler aspects of his personality have been obvious and consistent. So -- 

Slowly. Or... hmm. Perhaps not. Perhaps he should listen to the feel of Tim stroking him harder and harder -- 

The press of teeth held carefully behind soft lips -- 

In this moment, Tim does not want his control. There may or may *not* be other sorts of moments entirely, someday, but... 

But Tim is moaning again, and nuzzling as he strokes *faster* -- 

Tim is opening his mouth *wide* -- 

And so Clark times himself just so, waiting for the touch of Tim's breath -- 

The feel of soft, *soft* internal surfaces -- 

And then he opens himself to the sensations with a groan, a shuddering *gasp*, a shaking *grip* on Tim's shoulders -- 

Tim looks up at him with *shock* -- 

And Clark gives Tim his hunger with every needy -- *careful* -- push of his penis -- "Please." _{I beg, I do beg --}_

And Tim whimpers *as* he closes his lips around the head, whines as he *sucks* -- 

Clark groans again -- 

Squeezes Tim's shoulders and *stares* -- 

And Tim tries to say... something. It's abortive and, of course, hopelessly slurred -- 

He blushes more deeply and closes his eyes -- 

"*No* -- *please* --" 

He opens his eyes again with shocked desire, more *wonder* -- 

And then he begins trying to take more, trying -- 

The drag of his lips is so soft -- 

The moment of *sharp* as Tim slips and bares his teeth is enough to make Clark shudder all *over* -- 

And this time, the slur is definitely an apology, but -- 

"More -- please, more, Tim -- *nnh* --" 

Of course he would take that as a request to *take* more -- 

He's *drooling* for him, *on* him -- 

He's shaking *with* Clark, and that -- 

"Oh, Tim, please, your wonderful *teeth* --" 

"*Mm*?" 

Clark laughs helplessly, breathlessly -- "There is no pain, Tim. There is -- nnh -- there is *sharpness* -- oh. Oh, *yes* --" 

And Tim begins working his head on Clark instantly, scraping his teeth -- 

It's always so much *easier* for the young ones this way -- especially when they've had very little in the way of similar sensations for their own genitals. It's -- 

It feels like a gift he can give and take at once, a *power* far more sweet than any of the ones *Superman* uses -- 

It's beautiful, and it's making Clark feel truly feverish, making Tim's mouth seem like relief and torture at *once* -- 

Everything is washed with *red* -- 

And then Tim's scent changes, deepens just -- 

And it feels like it takes every ounce of control he *has* not to move Tim, not to take Tim's orgasm into his mouth, his throat -- 

Tim is keening with *shocked* pleasure -- 

Tim is sucking with *ruthless* strength and maddening arrhythmia -- 

Tim is panting and *struggling* to continue to give pleasure, and that -- 

Clark *must*, and so he gathers enough control to hold Tim's head with *gentle* firmness, to hold him still so that he may thrust -- 

No deeper than Tim has taken him, no deeper than *that* -- 

Even though Tim is shouting, *tearing* with arousal that spikes so quickly, so wonderfully -- 

Oh, just deep enough that Tim can feel his own clever fist touch his *lips* -- 

"I *love* you, Tim, I love you so very -- oh, oh, I'm *close* --" 

And Tim shudders and stares up at him, strokes Clark faster -- urges? 

"More?" 

And this time the nod *is* frantic, the suck is -- 

So *much* -- 

And so Clark relaxes himself that much more, lets himself *thrum* to the pound of Tim's heart until he *must* thrust faster -- 

A little more -- 

*More* -- 

And now Tim is grunting and moaning for it -- and Clark is doing the same. The urge to squeeze his eyes shut is the same frustrating *push* as it always is -- the fact that he *can* see through his eyelids doesn't mean that it's easy to call on that kind of *focus* at times like these -- and Tim is -- 

Oh, so perfect in his hands, so warm and soft and *damp* with sweat, *slick* with sweat -- 

"Let -- you'll let me *taste* you," Clark says, and that was more of a *growl* than speech -- 

Tim stiffens and grunts -- 

Shudders and *nods* -- 

And then there is only beauty for his senses, beauty and *mounting* arousal -- 

Has Tim had many nights when he had to bring himself to orgasm several times in a row? Has -- 

"I want to rub your semen into my *skin*, Tim --" 

And that was really something of a *squawk* -- 

Which is why he's laughing as the pleasure slams through him -- 

As he shudders and *forces* himself to still -- 

As he *shouts*, spilling and spilling -- 

Oh, he's squeezed his eyes shut *again* -- 

He struggles to open them against the urge to only float and spill *more* -- 

He opens them and his semen is running down Tim's chin -- 

Dripping on his lean, flushed *chest* -- 

Tim is so *dazed* -- 

"*Beautiful* --" And then Clark can only grunt his way through the end of it -- 

Grunt and pull out so that he can lay Tim down and thrust -- 

And thrust -- 

And spill, one more time, all over Tim's twitching penis. In truth, they're twitching together. It's just one more pleasure, one more -- mm. 

Clark licks Tim's face clean and moves them once more, kneeling so that Tim can straddle his lap and pant against Clark's jaw and throat. "Oh -- lovely." 

"I -- oh. Oh. Ah." 

Clark hugs Tim, and pets him, and -- well, he hadn't liked the rocking *before*, but -- 

"Clark." 

He still doesn't like the rocking. Clark sighs and stops, pulling back just enough to cup Tim's face, so beautiful -- 

So *flushed* -- 

"How do you feel?" 

The mild annoyance dissipates like mist in a desert, leaving a *bright* smile, wide and shy at once. "I -- very good. Thank you --" 

"Thank *you*." 

"Oh, but -- ah." Tim blushes and looks down -- 

But does not struggle or even frown when Clark lifts his chin once more. "That was wonderful, Tim. Your mouth, the pleasure you took -- " Clark grins. "Please, feel free to do that as often as you like." 

A deeper blush -- "I -- meant to ask you more about what I should do." 

Clark raises an eyebrow. "I'm more than willing to give you suggestions, but truly that was wonderful." 

"Surely there are some things you enjoy more than others, Clark." 

"Of course, but, in general, being licked and kissed and *taken* that way is quite far up the proverbial ladder." 

"But what's *higher* than that?" 

Clark rests two fingers on Tim's swollen mouth. "You would drive me, fine one?" 

Tim shivers and nods. 

"Then I promise to tell you *precisely* what I want whenever you wish to please me --" 

Tim moans and kisses Clark's fingers, licks them and *bites* -- 

There is no true option: Clark allows himself to become erect once more. "Tim... I don't want the same thing every time." 

Tim pauses with his teeth digging into the pad of Clark's thumb -- nods thoughtfully and sucks. 

Clark sighs again and cups the back of Tim's head with his free hand, pulling him in so that he may fill Tim's mouth with his thumb -- 

Tim moans and hums -- 

Sucks *hard* -- 

And Clark can smell pain. It's mild, but... there are other things they can do, especially since the AI had helpfully covered the bowl of lubricant so that it would stay warmer than Tim's body temperature. "Do you still wish me to take you, Tim?" 

A grunt and Tim bites down *firmly* -- 

And then blushes and pulls back. "I -- need to not have that reflex. Um." 

Clark smiles. "I promise to enjoy it less when you do bite me, then." 

Tim blinks -- and then raises an eyebrow. 

"Yes, that was a terrible lie. How do you wish to be positioned? How have you fantasized it?" 

"I -- um. I'm usually... on my hands and knees." 

Clark takes a deep breath. "And other times?" 

"Well... I've thought -- recently -- about... um." And Tim presses closer, then reaches to bring Clark's hand to his rear. 

"Oh... like this?" 

"If... ah. Do you like --" 

"I love this position, Tim. It makes me feel so much closer to my lovers... well. Here," Clark says, and dips his fingers in the lubricant, using the fingers of his other hand to spread Tim just enough -- 

"Oh -- oh, *warm* --" 

"Do you like it?" 

Tim nods rapidly and spreads his legs wider, presses closer *still* -- 

And Clark pushes deep with one finger -- 

"*Ahn* --" 

"I have a confession to make..." 

"Oh -- Clark?" 

Clark smiles, and turns it against Tim's temple. "I'm using a lubricant which contains certain... ah... muscle relaxants." 

"Muscle --" Tim pulls back. "It won't -- will it make me -- high?" 

"You're eaten well and regularly recently, and you have no serious wounds in your rectum. Additionally, you're not a metahuman, so... no. It will, however, make it very, very easy to stretch you without pain." 

Wide eyes, parted lips -- 

Clark lets his eyes flare. "We need wait for nothing, fine one." 

Tim swallows. "Sometimes. Sometimes it sounds... like you're speaking another language." 

"Sometimes I think in --" The language. "Kryptonian. Translation to English can be somewhat... inexact." 

"And... thrilling, actually." Tim blushes and smiles ruefully. "The AI -- the *monitor-servant* -- suggested I... rush you. A little." 

"In terms of teaching you...? I'm not surprised," Clark says, crooking his finger and dragging just so -- 

"*Ohn* -- oh, God --" 

"I'll teach you everything, fine one. I'll teach you everything in my *power* to teach you --" 

"*Please*!" 

"But first, I will have your comfort. Your pleasure," and he's not *truly* Kal in this moment -- 

Tim's heart is beating much faster just the same. 

Clark leans in and licks Tim's mouth, his cheek, his ear -- "Tell me a fantasy. About anyone." 

"I --" 

"Please," Clark says, and it's too fast. It's -- 

Tim shivers and clutches Clark's shoulders -- 

"Please."

Tim moans. "I. I'm blindfolded..." 

Clark breathes deeply, heavily... "With anything in particular?" 

"Some -- the material is the same as the bed you gave me." 

The bed that periodically becomes a cocoon when Tim is too deeply asleep to notice. "You're here?" 

Tim pants and starts to work his hips -- he wants Clark to thrust faster. He wants -- 

"Tim..." 

"Yes -- yes, please --" 

Clark drags his fingertip again -- 

"*Please*!" 

"Everything, Tim. You may have *everything* of me." 

A shiver -- 

A moan -- 

"You. You lead me somewhere. Somewhere I haven't seen." 

Clark licks his lips and -- he must reward this. There's no *option*. He thrusts faster, and teases Tim's anus with his index finger -- 

"Oh -- *yes* --" 

"Do I take off your blindfold?" 

"N--no --" 

"Do I tell you about the room?" 

Tim opens his mouth -- and groans heavily, *loudly*. 

Because Clark has pushed in a second finger without thinking. He -- "Please keep going." 

"I -- oh, Clark --" 

"Tell me --" 

"You're so -- it's *cold*. In the room, I mean. In -- not -- it's not too cold, I mean -- I don't know --" 

Clark kisses Tim's temple. "It's cooler. Perhaps... sixty degrees?" 

Tim nods desperately and moans -- "You take my -- I'm naked --" 

"Have I." Clark swallows. "Have I... warned you?" 

Tim blushes *hot* -- "You tell me you're tired of waiting." 

Clark *grunts*. "Tim..." 

"It's -- I know you wouldn't --" 

"Should I?" 

"I. I." 

Clark stills his fingers -- 

"Oh -- *no* --" 

And for that word -- 

There's always a shiver for that word, a sense of taboo, a choice that could be made... 

The choices he's made with Dinah, with Roy... 

And there *are* parts of the Fortress which Tim hasn't seen. There -- 

"Tell me, Tim." 

Tim digs his fingers in against Clark's shoulders -- 

Grinds his face against Clark's throat -- 

And there is fear threaded through the waves of arousal surrounding them both -- Tim's and his own. The desire to make this perfect for Tim, the desire to overwhelm to the point where Tim sees him as *pleasurably* inhuman -- 

The desire not to *break*. 

And so he doesn't use Kal's voice to say "Tim..." 

But he does make sure to make his free hand inhumanly hard as he strokes Tim with it. A choice. 

There must *always* be choice, even when the choice is to remove even the possibility of such things. 

And Tim shudders, moans -- and clenches purposefully before crying out -- "*Clark* --!" 

That, too, is a choice. "I'm here, Tim, right --" 

"I'm not *ready*," Tim says, and he sounds mournful -- and smells increasingly *shamed*. 

"You need never be in order to please me, to move me and *fill* me," and Clark kisses Tim firmly -- and just a little too quickly. Distraction and confusion will help to *derail* that shame -- 

As will pleasure. Clark *works* Tim's prostate ruthlessly, giving Tim one rhythm after another until he begins to shake -- 

Until the scent of his need grows *rich* -- 

And then he gives Tim another finger. 

"*Ohn* -- oh, it's so *much* -- don't *stop* --" 

"I won't," Clark says, and licks the corners of Tim's mouth. "But I still want your fantasy..." 

"You fuck me, you fuck me so *hard* --" 

"On your knees?" 

"Bent -- bent over -- I don't know what it was -- oh, God, I'm so *full*!" And the wonder in his scent... 

The smile feels hard on Clark's face, and precisely as needy as it should. "I can give you even more --" 

"*Hnh* -- oh, Clark, there -- there are people *watching* in the fantasy --" 

Clark grunts and *almost* stills his fingers again. No. Not that. Not -- "Who?" 

Tim shakes his head, blushing hard --

"Is it Jay?" 

Tim groans and clenches -- 

Shouts and clenches again -- 

And begins to clench purposefully, grunting roughly for each one -- 

It's enough of an answer. It's -- "Does he speak? Does he..." Clark licks his lips and pulls Tim closer, adjusting his throat just so -- "Does he tell you what a pretty boy you are, Timmy?" 

"*Fuck*!" 

Clark lets his smile be... wet. "Does he talk about how much you're makin' him want it? How much you're makin' him *need* it?"

"Clark -- oh, Clark --" 

"Does he talk about doin' you good and hard? Suckin' up Clark's sloppy seconds --" 

"Oh my *God* -- oh, *please* --" 

"Gonna come, pretty baby...?" The endearment is Roy's, but it suits well *enough* -- 

"Jason -- oh, *Jason*," and Tim begins to *ride* Clark's fingers even as he blushes, as he shakes his head -- 

Clark holds his head *still* and whispers into his ear -- "Don't say no to me, Timmy. You know how much we *both* want it --" 

"Fuck -- ohn --" 

"You know how much we *need* it --" 

"J-- *Clark* --" 

"You know I'll take care of you, right...? Always wanted a pretty boy like you, a *brother* --" 

Tim cries out and *struggles*, stilling his hips and clenching -- 

And Clark winces internally for his misstep. He shouldn't have given Tim anything he would have to *work* to believe. Tim doesn't *know* who Jay chooses to spend his time with, and he certainly doesn't know why. Clark eases his grip on Tim's jaw and kisses him all over his face. "It's all right, I promise --" 

"I -- I -- he wouldn't --" 

"I know him rather better than you do, but -- ah. Perhaps we'll save that experiment for another time?" 

Tim flushes *brick* -- 

And Clark smiles ruefully. "I'm jealous of him, Tim. I'm -- I'll never, ever try to keep the two of you apart, but I can't help but wonder... well." 

"Clark, I -- I care about *you*. I want you, and -- and I need you --" 

Clark kisses Tim's mouth briefly, *warmly* -- "And Jay will make you need everything about him if you give him a chance," he says, and smiles again. "In case it wasn't clear... I vastly enjoyed your reactions to hearing that voice --" 

"*You* -- in the fantasy -- and now --" 

"But he *was* speaking?" 

"Little -- comments. About my... my body. The parts of my body I like --" Tim shakes his head. "It's not --" Tim *frowns* and shakes his head, pulling back enough that they can meet each other's eyes. "I didn't mean to make you think I didn't want *you*." 

Clark hums. "You truly didn't --" 

"But --" 

"I'm jealous because I'm a very ridiculous person who *also* happens to be more than a little in love with Jay. It's *possible* that the two of you *won't* fall madly in love with each other --" 

"Yes -- yes, *that* --" 

"But it's probable that you will, at the very least, find yourselves *deeply* sexually compatible." 

"I -- you. I. I suppose you do... know that." 

Clark hums again and nods. "I'd like to give you *all* of your fantasies, Tim. The fact that I cannot will *not* keep me from trying." 

"You... could probably. Ah." 

"Yes, Tim?" 

"Bruce. You could. You could show me what he sounds like when he's being himself?" 

Clark grins. "Would you like me to? Was *he* there in your fantasy?" 

Tim bites his lip -- 

"Oh... that's very dirty." 

"I'm sorry --" 

"Yes, do apologize for *every* moment when you're not filthy-minded, because it really does leave me terribly lonely." 

Tim snorts -- 

Clenches -- 

Crosses his *eyes* -- 

Clark hums and kisses him, and then does it again, again -- 

"Oh -- Clark -- *mm* --" 

"We can discuss *all* of your fantasies, and -- well. I'll behave myself? That wasn't truly meant to be a question --" 

Tim snorts again --

And Clark beams -- and crooks *all* of his fingers -- 

"*Clark*!" 

And *holds* them there --

"Shall I take you with my penis, fine one?" 

"That's -- oh, that's *possible*!" 

"So many wonderful things are..." Clark kisses Tim's forehead. "I could take you... again and again --" 

"*Nnh* -- oh -- you. Do you want to?" 

Clark offers one of his own wetter smiles. "Very much. You're... mm. You're quite warm here," he says, and vibrates his fingers -- 

"Ah -- ah -- *ahn* -- oh, God, what -- *mm* --" And Tim begins to ride him again, tossing his head and squeezing his beautiful eyes shut -- 

"I *could* just use my fingers --" 

"You -- you don't *want* to --" 

"I truly do. I have the control to do *this* even more than I could with my penis." 

"I -- what --" 

"Tim..." Clark slows the vibration down slowly -- 

Slowly -- 

The noise Tim makes is *querulous* -- 

"Oh, beautiful --" Clark kisses him again, sucks *hard* on his lower lip -- 

"*Mm*!" 

"It's your choice." 

"Then --" 

"Wait," Clark says, and uses everything he's learned from Bruce to *pin* Tim with a look. 

"Clark...?" 

"I'll hurt you with my penis, Tim. Even with my control. Even with this lubricant." 

Tim's penis twitches *violently* -- 

"Oh, Tim...."

"I. Ah. I think that was a sufficient answer? Please?" 

Clark licks his lips and tries to -- no. He'd promised to give Tim what he wanted, and that's precisely what he'll do. "Do you want to feel me pulling out?" 

"What? Oh -- you can do it -- please do it fast -- ah. Wow." And Tim smiles brightly, *warmly* -- and immediately kneels up and takes Clark's penis in hand --

"Oh -- mm. Would you guide me inside you?" 

"I'm both absolutely sure that it will be the easiest thing in the world and absolutely sure that I'll enjoy missing. Ah. Immensely." 

Clark lets his eyes flare -- 

"That's -- that was arousing?" 

"The thought of the tease, fine one. Please. Guide." 

Tim moans and kneels up even farther, reaches back to spread himself with his free hand -- 

And his grace is just as it should be for one so young, so physically clever and determined. He is not Dick -- no one could ever be -- but he is exceptional just the same, beautiful and -- 

And then Tim is dragging the head of Clark's penis along his cleft and Clark is moaning, *staring* as Tim's brow furrows in concentration -- 

As Tim pants and licks his lips -- 

And the first drag of the head against Tim's anus makes them both jump, makes Tim pant more and writhe -- 

"Yes, Tim, please, *again* --" 

A fervent nod -- 

And Tim teases Clark viciously with the furl of his anus, the not-especially-tight-at-*this*-moment pucker --

One drag after another and another -- 

And the twitch of Tim's penis is an excellent illustration of the fact that the tease isn't *only* for Clark. He -- 

Clark licks his palm wet at speed and closes it around Tim's penis -- 

"*Nuh* -- oh -- please don't!" 

The shiver for that -- "Tell me why." He can't quite shift his tone enough for a *question* -- 

Tim's eyes are wide once more, fear and arousal rising, *rising* -- 

"It's all right --" 

"I -- I'll come too *fast*, Clark --" 

"And you don't wish to?" 

A blush -- 

"*Don't* look away from me. Please --" 

Tim groans and stares, strains toward Clark -- 

And Clark pulls him in for a kiss, and another -- 

Tim is still *teasing* them -- 

"*Tell* me, Tim." 

"I want! Please, please, not until -- I mean -- I come so *hard* when I have something inside me!" 

'Something'. *Something* -- "You may... you may find it difficult --" 

"*Please*!" 

*Clark* pants -- and releases Tim's penis. "Fine one. Take me *in*." 

Tim's guidance is unerring, Tim's expression focused as he lowers himself -- but it doesn't last. The focus fuzzes around the edges where it doesn't sharpen to something like *anguish* - 

"Beautiful -- oh. *More*." 

Tim nods and moans -- 

Such incredible -- 

And Clark needs his control right now, needs it for the next few *minutes* -- hours and hours. Tim's scent tells him that this will not -- *need* not -- last very long, but -- 

Clark wants to *haul* Tim down as he does with Bruce and Dick, thrust and rock his way in as he does with Jay to make him curse more -- 

More and more -- 

But Tim is lowering himself with a steadiness which will not -- must not -- be denied, or altered -- 

Tim knows so *much* about what he wants, and that must be respected, must -- 

Tim doesn't yet know -- or understand -- everything he needs. He doesn't yet comprehend the full scope of what he can have. *Should* have. For those things, Clark can take over, and even *push*. Not for this. 

Not for this -- 

This *wonder* as Tim takes him in deeper and deeper, as Tim's eyes widen more and *more*. Tim opens his mouth as if to speak -- he moans. 

He blinks and winces -- 

He moans again. 

He starts to lower himself *faster* -- he cries out and tosses his head, clenches *hard* -- 

Clark groans and doesn't thrust, doesn't grip Tim's slim, beautiful hips -- no. "You're so very -- I love the shape of you, the feel --" 

"C-Clark --" 

"My palms ache to touch you, to feel you, so human --" 

"I --" 

"So *small*, this -- this lovely obscenity -- " 

A flush, and some of Tim's focus comes back as he *pauses* -- 

"*Please*, Tim --" 

"Oh! I'm sorry, I'm --" 

"*No* --" 

"*Hnh* -- nn --" And Tim kneels up *slightly* and -- 

The anticipation is so much in the caesura of subjectivity, the pleasure in the slight drag of Tim's flesh against Clark's, the knowledge of what he'll do -- 

Such a boy, such an *agreeable* boy -- 

Oh, but Clark should stop him, shouldn't he? Should -- should *protect* him from this, from the sensations which will almost certainly prove to be far too intense -- 

Clark can stop him -- 

He can *stop* him -- 

He can -- 

He can watch decision form on Tim's face, watch determination grow and grow -- 

Clark doesn't reach to stop him. He -- 

Tim *slams* himself down -- 

Tim screams and claws at him -- 

"Beautiful, beautiful *boy* --" 

"*Clark*!" 

"*Please* --" 

And Tim cries out in *question* -- but there is no *human* pause before he is lifting himself again, dragging himself *off* -- 

Clark growls and grips Tim's hips because he *must* -- 

"Oh -- *ohn* --" 

But he doesn't stop Tim, doesn't -- 

Tim is *riding* him, and the motions are jerky, not *smooth* -- 

The motions are *unpracticed* -- 

And so beautiful, so -- 

Clark groans and hums his pleasure, smiles into Tim's dazed eyes and strokes him, pets him, strokes his hard and twitching penis -- 

And Tim cries out and thrusts into Clark's fist. He -- 

"*Yes*, Tim --" 

Another questioning cry, but still no pause, no -- 

"Just like that, just -- oh, you please me so *much* --" 

"*Ahn* --" 

"Oh, that clench, that --" Clark hisses between his teeth and strokes Tim faster, pets Tim's swollen and *undoubtedly* aching cleft with his free hand -- "Do it *again*." 

And Tim rides him faster, harder -- 

Tim squeezes his eyes shut -- 

Tim sweats and bites his lip -- 

Clark *squeezes* Tim's penis -- 

Tim's eyes fly open, fill with pleasure and greed and fear -- 

And Clark knows his own smile is one of Kal's, knows *himself* in this moment when he only wishes to urge the boy on, *whip* him on if necessary -- 

And Dinah responds to that sort of treatment by tossing her hair and pressing her *face* to the floor -- 

Roy shakes and curses and *grunts* -- 

And it's a whisper in his mind, insinuating and low: Tim can be trained. 

Tim can be *used*. 

Tim --

Tim seemingly remembers *how* to clench, and then he does it over and over again, moans becoming cries, cries becoming *cracked* screams, *desperate* screams -- 

And the whispers in Clark's mind lose relevance under the *force* of his need to open himself to this experience -- 

This friction and *rising* human heat -- 

And Tim chokes off his own cry with the first flex of Clark's penis inside him -- 

Tim's scent of *wonder* rises -- 

"Oh, love, oh, sweet --" 

"Clark --" 

"*Yes*," Clark says, and strokes Tim faster, strokes Tim in the *exact* rhythm he's using with his own penis -- 

And the screams begin again, buffeting Clark with noise and breath, penetrating him with sound and the need to be *worth* such -- 

Such *beauty* -- 

Clark has never had trouble understanding Bruce's moments of mute desperation in the face of the beauty of his partners, nor has he had trouble understanding Bruce's urges toward poetry. Both are here now, *right* now, because Tim is clutching at him, sweating and shaking and *screaming* -- 

And continuing to ride him without pause, without -- 

So many others would *surrender*, especially if they were young and inexperienced. Tim continues to *give* -- and to take -- and Clark is humbled on top of being pleasured. 

Clark wants this to *last* -- 

But every drag of flesh against flesh is making Tim more raw -- and thus more susceptible to the compounds in the lubricant -- and Tim's screams are growing sharper and *needier*. 

"Shh," Clark says reflexively, not meaning it in the *slightest* -- 

Oh, good, it doesn't seem like Tim had heard him. It -- 

Clark leans in and kisses Tim, taking his mouth in a rhythm opposite to the one of hand and hips -- 

And then he begins to vibrate his hand, trying different speeds and frequencies until -- 

Tim shrieks and goes *rigid*, throwing his head back and staring blindly at the ceiling -- 

"*Come*, Tim --" 

And then it's a matter of holding Tim *still*, holding him in place so that Clark can thrust in the rhythm Tim can't manage anymore, so that Tim doesn't *hurt* himself as he bucks and spasms -- 

"Good. Good boy," and the scent of his own sweat and pre-ejaculate is distracting, but the scent of Tim's sweat and semen is *maddening*. Unpredictable motion, bright colors, heat -- 

So much heat -- 

And the perfection of *need* when he closes his hands around Tim's hips and begins to move him, to urge this and *only* this. Tim is almost *limp* in his hands at first, pliant and *lost* -- 

But when Clark works to be sure his thrusts drag against Tim's prostate just so -- 

When Clark squeezes *firmly* -- 

Tim's eyes fly open once more and focus on him. Wonder and fear and need, yes, so lovely, shock, fear, *pleasure* -- 

And Clark can only stare back at this point, only moan and beg and -- hopefully -- promise with his eyes that all will be well. All -- 

Tim wraps his arms around Clark's neck -- 

Tim rests his head on Clark's *shoulder* -- 

"Please --" 

"*Yes*, Tim --" 

"Oh -- *please*." 

But 'yes' is the only word in his mind now, yes and -- 

No, please is there -- 

Tim's name -- 

Tim's beautiful *body*, and there are so few scars, but they both know that will change, don't they? They both understand the *preciousness* of this unmarked flesh, the *potential* -- 

Don't they? 

Clark groans and works Tim faster, lifts him and lowers him, lifts him and *pulls* -- 

"Hnh -- *hnh* -- *please* --" 

"Yes, *please* --" And Clark growls and opens himself that much more, taking the slick-sleek feel of sweat which hasn't *quite* emerged onto the surface of Tim's skin. Taking Tim's shudders of growing fatigue -- 

His scents of rising and *tremulous* pleasure -- 

And Clark can't. He -- 

He moves Tim with *one* hand and uses the other on Tim's mouth, his nipples, his scrotum, his penis -- 

And then he can take tension, *shocked* hunger -- 

More, he needs *more* -- and so he begins to thrust even faster, holds Tim's penis and vibrates his hand *roughly* -- 

And every scream makes Clark gasp now, makes him leak *copious* pre-ejaculate -- 

Until Tim begins to clench again, sweetly, darkly, *randomly* -- 

"*NNH* --!" 

And this orgasm is much more *brief*, but it seems to treat Tim viciously. He shakes and jerks -- 

His screams crack in his poor *throat* -- 

"A fantasy --" But Clark doesn't truly know what he means by that when he lifts Tim off and moves him, when he holds Tim down on his stomach and enters him again -- 

When he lets himself shout and *shout*, heedless of -- nearly -- everything save his own pleasure, his own need -- 

And the sweetness of his greed as he takes the cries and gasps of any number of people in the Southern Hemisphere for his own, as well. Tim is the most important of all of them -- 

Tim is so much -- 

But Tim's fantasy of being watched and *known* in his pleasure is anything but unfamiliar. Here is what Superman would do if he had any true passion within him -- 

Here is what Clark Kent would do on the Daily Planet *globe* if he wouldn't wind up falling to his ignominious *death* - 

But, truly, *here* is who he *truly* is, because the boy beneath him is so lovely, and the ache they share is perfect -- 

So -- 

Clark opens himself as far as he *dares* -- 

And for a terrifying and *wonderful* moment, he can't hear anything but his own cries, can't *feel* anything but his own *pleasure* as he spills and twitches and spasms and *thrusts* -- 

Again -- 

*Again* -- 

The scent of *sharp* pain -- 

Clark stills himself with an effort while he continues to ejaculate. With time, Tim's whimpers become too *much* to ignore, and Clark lifts and moves him once more, turning him and settling him in his lap *carefully* -- 

Oh, the scent of *tears* -- 

Clark kisses Tim's eyes before the tears can truly fall. "Fine one, all is well, all is sweet, all -- so beautiful --" 

"I know! I know -- oh -- oh, *Clark*," and Tim sobs and clutches Clark's shoulders again, shaking and -- and *trembling* -- 

Clark holds on tightly and waits.


	6. Definitely no pressure!

It's -- 

It's ridiculous, and embarrassing, and -- and *foolish* -- 

There's no *reason* to cry like this -- 

He's *happy*, and -- and Clark will probably start *rocking* him again if Tim doesn't get control of himself soon and -- 

He's happy. He's -- 

The way Clark had *touched* him had been so --

Well, it was better than this -- 

Except that Tim flushes and has to cough, because it was really just *different* from this. Wonderful, and -- and incredibly erection-inducing -- 

Different. 

Clark's hands on him are gentle and warm, perfectly -- perfect. Clark is petting him and holding him, and it always feels so good. So --

To the point where Tim hasn't been able to protest the way Clark tends to just *appear* whenever Tim gets tired to hold him and -- and *cuddle* him to sleep. He doesn't think there's anything wrong with that. He doesn't think there's anything wrong with *this*. Of course it's right for Clark to comfort someone he -- cares about. Someone who can't stop *leaking* -- 

The only wrong is in him. Just -- of course his mother would want to cut her losses. Adopting him had been an experiment she'd taken seriously *enough* -- or. 

Tim pulls back from Clark and absently wipes his face with one of the usual paper-thin but incredibly strong, soft, and absorbent towels that tend to appear in his hand at times like these. He -- 

"Tim...?" 

"I think -- I think no one knows about the adoption but the two of them and whatever agency they used." 

"Yes?" 

"I think... not even my grandparents." 

Clark blinks. "But...?" 

"She... she's mentioned her 'pregnancy' being a difficult one. Too difficult to repeat." 

"I -- hm. It's rather more noticeable for otherwise healthy women to go into seclusion when they become pregnant these days than it once was, Tim." 

Tim nods slowly and thoughtfully -- "Not impossible." 

"Would you like to... ah... cut through a certain fraction of her web of lies and deceit?" 

Tim blinks and blushes -- 

"Oh... I'd be more than willing to help --" 

"It -- wouldn't matter. She already got what she wanted from my father's parents." 

Clark raises an eyebrow. "Your parents received certain considerations when they produced an heir?" 

"Yes, I -- I don't want to -- " 

"Get back at her?" 

"It's -- juvenile." 

Clark strokes Tim's cheek. "Perfectly understandable, though. I know I find myself wanting to do absolutely terrible things to your parents --" 

"Clark -- don't." 

Clark frowns, but only mildly. "Of course. How do you feel?" 

"Um -- good." 

The eyebrow goes back up, and really -- 

Tim laughs somewhat helplessly. And damply. 

Clark grins. "Oh, I'm rather fond of that." 

"So you've mentioned," Tim says, and turns his head to blow his nose for the usual ridiculously *long* period of time. 

The AI swallows the towel -- 

And Clark cups Tim's shoulders and cocks his head to the side. "Please don't berate yourself." 

"I'm *not*." At the moment. 

"Tim. Many, many people find themselves overcome with emotion when they make love for the first time." 

Tim opens his mouth -- 

"*Especially* when there have been... hm. Temporally proximate emotionally overwhelming events."

Tim makes a sour face -- 

And Clark manages to laugh them both into another hug. It feels precisely as good -- 

As warm -- 

He should probably stop encouraging things like this. What -- 

What would Jason say about -- hm. 

"Do you... ah." 

"Yes, Tim?" 

"How much time do you spend... cuddling with Jason?" 

"Hmm. I'm not sure I want to answer that question for you." 

"Clark --" 

Clark kisses Tim's cheek. "I will anyway. There are times when Jay *only* wants to be held -- he's been abundantly clear about this in many, many ways, including the directly verbal -- but it's something he rarely allows himself." 

Tim frowns. "Do you know why? I mean -- ah." 

"I don't feel it would be breaking too much of a confidence to tell you that there are times when Jay feels he doesn't... ah... give enough to Bruce." 

"Because of... the girls? And you?" 

Clark pulls back and smiles ruefully. "Because of himself, and the things Bruce makes him need. It isn't sexuality that Jay denies Bruce." 

And that -- that actually does make sense, considering what he's seen on the *street*. And considering what he's been able to deduce -- *easily* -- from the way they really-a-lot-more-than-occasionally disappear from parties together. They're not doing that so they can hug each other. 

He -- 

"Maybe... maybe Jason doesn't want to feel -- needy." 

"Ah..." And Clark... shifts his expression to one with a crooked smile and something of a leer -- 

Jason is *immediately* recognizable. "I -- no --" 

"Everybody needs *something*. You try to go without it, you just go crazy and wind up fucking with the people who care about you," and then Clark shifts his expression back to something more usual. Something more *himself*. "That was, in fact, a *direct* quote -- from when Jay was talking a suicidal young man down from his rather precarious perch on the Sprang bridge." 

"But -- there's a difference -- I mean. Maybe he just --" 

"Maybe he was just saying that in order to make someone feel better?"

Tim blushes. He doesn't especially want to call Jason a hypocrite -- 

And he knows Clark can see *that* by the way he's smiling wryly. He -- 

"I... I take it that Jason has said similar things at other times to people with more impact on his personal life." 

Clark nods slowly, and doesn't stop smiling. 

"I'm -- glad my flailing is pleasantly amusing to you." 

"You're far more than merely pleasant or amusing to me, Tim. You make me happy." 

"But I'm always arguing with you!" 

Clark kisses --

Clark *licks* his cheek, and Tim knows that he had missed a tear track by the way Clark hums. 

"You do tend to respond better to good sense than most people your age. Good sense which contradicts what you've been taught, even." 

Tim knows he looks sour again, but -- "Then why do you *date* people my age?" 

"Rank perversion isn't a good enough answer?" 

Tim -- chokes. And bites his lip. 

Clark looks like he'd rather be *bouncing* -- 

Tim *scowls* -- 

And Clark kisses him all over his face. "Beautiful boy. Most-desired. *No* one is above irrational decisions. The fact that there are times when I make love to people honestly *too* young for me doesn't mean that I have especially *good* reasons for doing it. Certainly not sensible ones." 

And that -- is worth a great deal of fear -- 

"Ah..." Clark strokes down the bridge of Tim's nose. "I believe this is where I mention that it's truly only the civilians who I wind up feeling too old for. And, well, people like Hal Jordan." 

"*I'm* a --" 

"Not for much longer," and Clark's smile is obnoxious. "Not that I'm rushing you." 

Tim -- doesn't scowl again. Much. "Who's Hal Jordan?" 

Clark hums. "Are you sure I should tell you? I mean, you *are* a civilian..." 

Tim *flushes* -- 

And Clark laughs, low and sweet and extremely -- fond. "He's a Green Lantern. Specifically, the one with lovely chestnut-brown hair." 

"That -- he's immature?" 

"Not -- usually -- in the sense of silly pranks or ill-advised behavior. I'm rather fond of those sorts of thing a lot of the time, after all. No, he's..." Clark frowns mildly, thoughtfully -- 

Pulls Tim *slightly* closer -- 

And smiles brightly, seemingly just for the greater level of contact between their torsos. 

"I -- yes, Clark?" 

"Oh, yes, I -- well. I'm afraid I have to *warn* you about him, Tim." 

"How so? I mean... is he not as *good* at molesting children?" 

"Oh, he's terrible at it, truly. No *verve*." 

Tim snickers despite himself -- 

"And I love that sound very, very much," Clark says, and sighs with pleasure before cupping Tim's hips and squeezing gently. "But in all seriousness, there are times when I wonder if he's truly... hmm... stable." 

"Ah. What?" 

Clark smiles ruefully. "He has had a lot of... troubles in his life, and very little in the way of peace. He lost his father at a young age, and his mother when he'd barely reached adulthood, and there are signs that his father, at least, was less than... gentle with him." 

"I. Oh." 

Clark nods. "Additionally, despite being part of a *Corps*, he has very, very few confidants. Many of us hoped he would take a partner -- he has the ability to *share* his powers with another -- but he never has. Instead, he has periodically spent time with the partners of *other* heroes, and behaved... oddly." 

Tim raises an eyebrow. 

Clark smiles again and shakes his head. "Beyond that, I cannot -- *yet* -- say, Tim. But Roy -- who is at least as adept at reading people as anyone in this community -- is uncomfortable being alone with him, and that sort of thing goes a long way with me." 

Well -- hm. "That does seem... telling." 

"Does it? Have you spent much time observing Roy?" 

"Oh -- no. Not... not *very* much. It's only... he seems like a very... open person. And open-minded, as well. And... liberal. In terms of his... affections."

Clark bites his lip -- "That was very diplomatic." 

"Yes, well, I *don't* know him --" 

"He's a slut." 

"Ah." 

"That is *precisely* how he describes himself." 

Tim bites his own lip -- no. "Well. Well -- all right? If someone like him finds being around someone else uncomfortable... then I'm going to guess that there might be something wrong." 

"Very wise. Roy would like *you* very much, Tim." 

"Oh -- do you think so?" 

"Oh, yes. He likes serious-minded people who are nonetheless open about their pursuit of pleasure -- and that blush is even more lovely than your usual sort --" 

"What -- how can you tell them *apart*?" 

"My vision is acute enough --" Clark coughs and grins. "No, I'm lying again. Your blushes are *physically* quite similar to each other. It's the timing of them that inflames most often." 

Tim glares -- 

Clark kisses his forehead -- 

A great deal -- 

And hugs him and pets him and moves him *around* -- 

And squeezes Tim's ass -- 

*Firmly* -- 

Tim shivers and decides to enjoy it, because -- 

Well, no, Clark *would* stop if Tim told him to, but he would be upset about it. He wouldn't let very *much* of the upset show, but he *would* be upset, and -- 

And it would be because he could tell -- easily -- that Tim *had* been enjoying it. Very *much*. 

Clark always knows when Tim is berating himself about something, or just feeling guilty or sad. It's enough to make Tim *strive* to do nothing of the kind -- he doesn't want to be *burdensome* -- but it still hits. It still -- 

He's not upset *now* -- 

And he can't even say that Clark doesn't know that, because Clark's touches are *never* explicitly sexual when Tim is feeling down. Clark -- 

Clark would never *pressure* -- even if Kal *would* -- and. Tim doesn't know. What he *does* know is that Clark very much enjoys touching him thoroughly enough to memorize Tim's body with the barest tip of his *pinky*, and that Clark is happier when Tim lets himself feel it -- 

And be moved without tensing -- 

And be kissed, and petted, and squeezed -- 

And Tim has to admit that he has no idea whatsoever why he was glaring in the first place. He -- 

He smiles up at Clark, and *then* realizes that he's on his back on the bed again, and -- 

And Clark smiles back, beautiful and warm and happy because Tim's happy. Happy to *have* him -- 

For now.

"I. Clark..." 

"Oh, what's troubling you?" 

"Nothing -- I mean --" Tim smiles ruefully. "I'm. I was just thinking that I would miss you." 

"When you leave me to train?" 

"I'm not -- um. I was thinking -- I was thinking I would miss you the next time *you* left." And when you get sick of me. 

Clark frowns just as if he could hear --

Just as if he could hear what Tim didn't say -- *enough* of it to *hurt* him. "I... don't think you want to know what I was just thinking." 

"I always -- ah." Clark smiles ruefully. "Perhaps you were thinking that I'd have my fill of you?" 

"You... still haven't told me how much time is... um. Enough for you. Generally." 

Clark's expression is soft and sad and warm -- 

"It's okay --" 

"I don't tend to get tired of Robins, Tim." 

"I'm *not* --" But it's a fight he's not going to win with Clark until he gives Bruce a *chance* to reject him for good and all. "How long are your usual relationships?"

"There's no --" Clark frowns and gives Tim more of his weight -- 

"*Oh* -- mm --" 

And Clark pulls back from the kiss to look at Tim deeply, and seriously -- "I only tend to end relationships with people who prove themselves cruel, or dishonest, and even then..." He shakes his head. "Lois and Bruce are *exceedingly* cruel people at times. Bruce lies as easily as he *breathes*. I... I don't fall out of love, Tim. Even when I believe I should." 

Tim frowns and tries to think about it, to *hold* it and *examine* it --

"Fine one, you have *claimed* me." 

"I --" 

"There is no crime your parents have committed more awful, in my eyes, than the way they have convinced you that you could *ever* be tiresome, or burdensome, or dull, or weak... or only of temporary interest." 

She hadn't looked at him. She -- 

("Son.") 

And -- 

And, of course, Clark is holding him again, and petting him -- 

Tim has to get over this *faster*, and -- and if he goes to Bruce, and does his best -- 

Better than he ever had *before*, at *anything* -- 

Then he'd be out of Clark's hair. And he would be -- Clark wouldn't have to do *this* all the time with Tim. They could just have fun together, whenever Bruce gave Tim free time. They could. 

Tim pushes on Clark's chest until he pulls back -- 

Clark kisses Tim's eyes again -- "Please let me --" 

"I think -- I think I'm ready. To see Bruce, I mean." 

Clark searches him, and he seems... hurt? 

"Clark?" 

Clark smiles ruefully. "I'm going to miss you very, very much, Tim." 

*Why* -- only asking something like that would just lead to Clark *answering* him, and Tim feeling like... 

Like he was fishing. 

Tim nods, instead, and pulls Clark close to him again. "Not... tonight? I don't think -- I don't know what time it is at all, actually." 

Clark smiles again. "It's around seven p.m. in Gotham." 

"Oh, then I shouldn't --" 

"Rest whenever you need to, Tim -- and whenever you *can*. Bruce will try very hard to teach you the same lesson." 

"I -- that makes sense. All right," Tim says, and nods again. "Do you have anything --" 

"If I need to leave, I promise to tell you," Clark says, and nuzzles Tim's cheek. 

"Oh -- mm --" 

"Unless you're sleeping." 

"All right --" 

"Will you visit me?" 

Tim blushes hard. It -- there's no way to *avoid* it with the hunger in Clark's voice, the *sadness* -- "Clark --" 

"Please, Tim." 

"Y-yes. Any -- I mean. If you want me --" 

"I do." 

"And." But Tim doesn't have anything that comes after that. He doesn't -- 

He clutches Clark's sides -- no. He *holds* Clark, and does his own nuzzling -- 

Clark makes a soft, *low* sound -- 

"Clark --" 

"Rest, Tim. Rest and know peace." 

And that was almost -- rushed. Or...curt? No, not that. It was more... it was more than just *goodnight*, but it was also a request that Tim not ask about the sound. What -- "Please, Clark, if you're upset --" 

Clark pulls back and looks at Tim ruefully, warmly. "I will miss you," he says, again, just as if that's -- 

Tim frowns. "I won't -- I mean, I'll have to work hard, of course --" 

"And you'll have... other things to do, yes. I'm all right," Clark says, and smiles again, much more brightly. 

Falsely? 

How would Tim *know*? 

Tim reaches up and strokes Clark's mouth -- 

Clark pants on Tim's fingers -- 

Clark *kisses* Tim's fingers -- 

And then Tim's eyelids -- 

And his shoulders -- 

And his shoulder *blades* -- 

And his knees -- 

"Clark --" 

"Rest," he says, and kisses Tim's eyelids once more. "I want -- I need to feel you in my arms." 

Tim blushes and pushes close. And closes his eyes. "I -- thank you, Clark. For everything." 

Clark shivers and holds him *firmly* -- and then eases his grip. And says something in Kryptonian that sounds heartfelt, beautiful -- 

Tim holds on firmly, as well.


	7. Begin... the Jayening.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Te suddenly remembers that she's been obsessed with Jay since early February 2004.

He brings Tim to the *front* door, knowing that at this time of day -- 

"Welcome to casa del cash, what can I do -- oh, it's you," Jay says, and grins at him. "What's up, Chester?" 

At this time of day, Alfred is often too busy in the kitchen to stop Jay from answering the door however he wishes. That sort of thing is worth... much. 

Clark pushes his glasses far too high up his nose, adjusts his tie to hopeless crookedness, and pretends to trip over a pebble -- 

Jay snorts and catches him. "I'm *gonna* let you fall one of these days, asshole -- oh." 

Tim isn't *quite* hiding behind the well-shaped evergreen just off the front walk, but he's still much easier for Jay to see once Clark has tripped himself out of the way. And Tim is staring with silent terror. 

Can Jay -- 

No, it's clear enough that Jay can see it, even though he can't smell it from this distance. He pushes Clark aside and makes soothing gestures with absent reflexiveness as he walks closer. "Drake, yeah?" 

Clark would very much like to give Tim a *new* name -- but Tim doesn't want that from him. Tim could never -- 

"Um. Yes. I --" 

"Can I call you Tim?" 

Tim blushes extravagantly, beautifully -- "Yes. If you --" 

Jay takes Tim's right hand in his own and squeezes it firmly, warmly. "I'm Jason. I *know* you already know that, but..." He grins. "Now you get to know it officially, yeah?" 

Tim studies Jay's grin with warmth and *growing* hunger -- but he shutters his eyes before Jay can see it -- no. Jay's expression is somewhat thoughtful. On some level, he'd caught that look perfectly. 

*They* don't know what will happen between them, yet, but Clark does. Clark's known from the *beginning*, and he's not -- 

"We. Uh. Clark told us the basics of what went down, Tim. You... you know that, right?" 

Tim looks down and away, baring the side of his long, pale throat -- 

And Jay squeezes Tim's hand again and cups Tim's shoulder with his free hand. So close -- 

And *Jay* will need Clark less with someone serious and quiet close to hand, and Bruce will -- 

*Clark* -- is a ridiculous person. He knows this about himself, and, perhaps, if he keeps telling himself these things, the pain will pass more quickly. 

The *wonder* in Tim's eyes -- 

The innocence and care -- 

And the sharp wit, the small, sly jokes -- 

Clark uses his subjective time to stare, to analyze the distance between Tim's bare throat and the side of Jay's thick, scarred thumb. Tim will enjoy the feel of it all over his body, and Jay will -- guiltily -- love Tim's unmarred flesh. He -- 

Abruptly, Clark's senses are filled with the memory of Tim's flavors -- 

He looks away -- 

"He -- I told him he could." 

"Heh. He pretty much had to, you stalker," and Jay releases Tim's hand and shakes him gently -- 

"Oh -- I'm sorry --" 

"Yeah? Sorry like you *wouldn't* do it all again...?" 

Can Tim hear the humor in Jay's voice? The rueful approval? 

"Ah... I feel as though I should... have an answer to that." There's a *cautious* smile in Tim's voice -- 

"You *do* have an answer, Timmy. It's just not the *nice* one." 

Tim hums. "I... suppose you're right --" 

"Is 'Timmy' okay?" 

"I -- I prefer Tim --" 

"That's what I'll call you, then. Unless... do you have any nicknames I should know about? Gotta get those out in the *open*." 

And -- Tim looks to him. In his eyes there is curiosity, hope, gratitude, caring -- 

He's not -- 

Clark knows that some of that is for him. That -- Tim *does* care for him, and desire him -- 

But Tim has had years to watch Jay, and to watch Jay *love*. He -- 

Clark smiles ruefully. _{I would watch *you* love, fine one.}_

"Hunh. Okay, I caught the 'love' in there -- mainly because I just kinda *expect* Chester to be a giant fucking Chester --" 

"Oh -- ah. I only understood -- Clark calls me 'fine one'." And now the scent of Tim's curiosity deepens even as he looks back and forth between Clark and Jay -- 

"Heh. You *are* higher-rent than his usual hook-ups." 

And that -- "Jay." 

Jay snickers. "Like maybe I'm lying about that? *Chester*?" 

Clark raises his eyebrows. "It wasn't Tim's *trust* fund that caught my eye, Jay." 

Jay snickers *more* -- and unceremoniously spins Tim to give them both an excellent view of his rear -- 

"Oh -- Jason --" 

"Trust fund, hunh? Is that what the horse-cocked aliens are callin' it this year?" 

Clark crosses his arms over his chest and lets Superman glower disappointedly at Jay -- 

Who is laughing breathlessly now. 

As ever, it's a sight worth very, very much, indeed, and Clark lets himself enjoy it as much as he wants to -- 

And lets himself enjoy the dawning smile on Tim's face. He's wanted to be this close to a laughing Jay. He's wanted that very, very badly. 

Clark inclines his head. "I'm going to talk to Bruce for a little while --" 

"Tell him we'll be down in twenty to thirty or so?" 

Already he wants time alone -- 

Clark forces it down and smiles. "Of course." 

He flies, after one last glimpse of Tim tugging -- with a smiling lack of true effort -- at Jay's grip. 

Clark finds Bruce near the empty uniforms, wearing only a pair of boxer briefs. Hm. 

"Indecision, Bruce?" 

"A great deal of it," Bruce says, and strokes the cape of the uniform which tends to gather the most dust. 

Clark keeps his distance from it, as always. "He *does* know you already." 

"There's something to be said for setting a tone, Kal." 

Kal? All right. "You didn't do especially well with that with Jay." 

Bruce smiles at the suit, wintry and -- anything but distant. "I didn't want to. How much time did Jay ask for?" 

"Twenty to thirty --" 

"Meaning forty-five minutes to an hour. Tim charmed him quickly." 

"And effortlessly -- in the sense that he wouldn't have known *how* to do it even if he'd wanted to try." 

Bruce raises an eyebrow -- and *then* looks at him. 

"He was hiding behind one of your bushes when I rang the bell." 

"He's... timid?" 

"He's traumatized. And circumspect." 

"I am, as you may have guessed, rather grateful for the latter," Bruce says, and steps away from the uniforms, walking toward the lockers, instead. 

Clark follows -- 

"His mother -- I'm afraid I can't quite wrap my mind around everything you've told me, Clark." 

"I think you see rather more abusive parents than I do --" 

"And even some parents who barter their children for various things..." Bruce shakes his head and begins pulling on workout clothes. "I've become accustomed to that sort of thing happening because of *desperation* -- and that usually chemical in nature." 

"Not greed?" 

Bruce frowns as he pulls on his shorts. "Greed is... yes, I've seen it." 

"You never expected it from someone you knew." 

"The greed I've seen has had its own desperation at the heart of it. Janet Drake was never poor, or hungry." 

"No, I don't think she was. She's only..." Clark sighs. "I've been monitoring." 

"Yes?" 

"She and her husband are sleeping in separate bedrooms." 

"But the man has done nothing to reacquire his son? Not even asking to *speak* with you?" 

"Not even that. And... they laughed together this morning." 

"About --" 

"Not about Tim," Clark says, and sits next to Bruce on the bench as Bruce pulls on his socks. "About -- some local politician being investigated --" 

"James Stanley. He has a taste for young, Asian, excitingly-gendered prostitutes." 

"Excitingly -- Bruce." 

Bruce hums and absently straightens the toe-seams. "Please consider, for a moment, all the different descriptive terms Jay has been teaching me for those young people." 

Clark coughs. "Ah -- yes."

"One of them happens to be one of his informants. I'm not at all sure ze isn't more than that to him, as well." 

"Jay is a very loving young man." 

Bruce's smile exposes any number of teeth which are, according to Jay, 'way too fucking sharp for how they fucking look.' "How jealous should I be, Kal?" 

"He almost touched Tim's throat." 

"Hmm. And so I should be as jealous as you are?" 

Clark covers his face with his hands and just -- listens to Bruce put his trainers on. 

He can do that. 

And keep doing that -- 

"Kal." 

"I was --" Clark moves his hands. "I think it would be a good idea if one of us weren't painfully, ridiculously, and horribly jealous." 

"And you've nominated me for this." 

"Well. You *are* older." 

"Hnn. You're in love with him." 

"Yes."

"Does *he* know that?" 

Clark -- stares at his hands -- "I... I don't want him to." 

He can feel Bruce staring at him. 

"Not -- not now." 

Bruce cups Clark's face and turns him enough that they can meet each other's eyes. "Kal..." 

Clark smiles ruefully. "Most of the time, now, he can accept that I care for him. Most of the time. I believe, given what his life to date has looked like, that if he believed me any of the times I've told him --" 

"He would feel a sense of obligation." 

Bruce has always been -- "Yes." 

Bruce winces. "I'm sorry." 

"It's all right --" 

"Dick... for a time, in the early days of the Titans, Dick would give them less of his time than he wished to. I knew that this was the case, but it still took me much too long to face the truth about why." 

"He knew how much you needed him." 

Bruce's smile is pained. "He knew how badly-suited I was to being on my own. I had to... mature myself at speed. Solely to be able to look at myself in the mirror." 

"Yes, I imagine I'll have to --" 

"That *isn't* your situation, Kal." 

"Bruce --" 

Bruce tightens his *grip* -- 

"I'm listening. Please don't hurt your fingers --" 

"Kal... tell me what to do. Tell me what I *can* do." 

"Give him a home. Give him -- a space to be free, and open, and wanted, and needed, and loved. Excite his mind. Give him reason to appreciate his -- his beautiful body..." And Clark stares up through the stone, the dirt -- 

Jay is giving Tim the tour at speed. His left hand never strays far from Tim's body -- 

And Bruce shifts his grip to Clark's shoulder. He -- 

"I'm all right, Bruce." 

"You're not." 

"I'm. When he falls asleep in my arms, there's always a moment -- just beyond the reach of consciousness -- when his lips curl up in the softest possible smile." 

"*Why* do you think he doesn't love you?" 

"He can't. I don't think he -- oh, not *permanently*, Bruce. He's not -- he's not *broken*."

"I'm listening."

"It's just that love is something which was denied to him for his entire *existence*. A *moment* of something like that -- from Dick -- was enough to alter the path of his *life*. He is -- he's so hungry, Bruce," Clark says, and covers Bruce's hand on his shoulder. "And I think he believes he doesn't have the right to such things -- no. I know he does." 

"And you feel his gratitude to you is an insurmountable obstacle?" 

Clark smiles and *aches* -- "Perhaps. Perhaps only for now? I am allowed hope, I think. Perhaps if he comes to see how easily others love him, he will remember the things I've said to him. The ways I've touched him." 

Bruce sighs and stands. 

Clark does the same -- 

And Bruce pulls him into a hug. He -- 

"I suppose I was obvious about how much I needed that." 

"I *am* the world's greatest detective, Kal." 

Clark snorts. "You're going to have to decide whether I should dress as Robin for Halloween or as *Moriarty*." 

Bruce hums and pulls back, raising an eyebrow. "You could be devastating in a properly-tailored waistcoat." 

"Or I could look like a pig in a silk *dress*." 

"Clark." 

"Yes, Bruce, *Clark*." 

Bruce laughs softly. "As you say. How are your parents?" 

"Aging far too quickly for my peace of mind, but only physically. They remain happy and happy with each other, and Ma has managed to make it through three entire visits without trying to convince me to go back to eating meat." 

"Really." 

"She did give me very soulful looks over the roast every time, though." 

Bruce sighs happily. "That's rather more in-character. Come with me." 

Clark nods and walks at Bruce's side as he leads them to a rather rough part of the Cave. The stone is undressed and there's actual grit on the floor -- 

And the secret compartment is all but *nestled* in the shadows. "If I hadn't been able to smell the lead, I wouldn't have noticed it, at all. Very good." 

"It's not, actually, supposed to be a secret." 

"No?" 

"Per se," Bruce says, and punches in one of *Dick's* codes. 

"Bruce?" 

"Look," and Bruce steps back as the door opens -- uniforms. 

The blue is dark enough to appear black to most humans in all but the brightest light, save for the stylized bird on the chest, which really looks far too vicious to be robin's-egg blue. The belt is the same color, as are the accents on the boots and gauntlets. The mask's v-shape calls the bird to mind -- hmm. Clark examines it for more than appearance, studying the weave -- "Kevlar *and* Nomex?" 

"His enemies grow more and more dangerous." 

"So they do. I... I do know how you feel about his current uniform." 

"Do you." 

"*I* didn't design it, Bruce." 

"You might've considered *discouraging* him." 

"I also wasn't the one who let him bare his *legs* for six years --" 

"Details." 

"Bruce --" 

"Do you think he'll like it?" 

"I -- sometimes you sound younger than I am." 

"Sometimes I feel that way," Bruce says, and his smile is rueful and... young. 

Clark cups *his* shoulder. "He told me you don't call him enough." 

"I don't want to --" 

"Pressure him, yes, I know. But... he also told me that he thinks you're angry with him." 

"*No* --" 

"I *did* reassure him, Bruce, but -- you should, too. And you should tell him, when you show these to him, that you only want him to be safe, and that you think he looks wonderful in indigo." 

Bruce sighs and squeezes his eyes shut -- for a moment. "I want him to come home." 

"I know, Bruce." 

"I want him..." Bruce shakes his head viciously and closes the compartment again. "Do you think..." 

"Yes?" 

Bruce firms his mouth into a hard line and leads them to the supercomputers, and the console which continues to have only one chair. It -- 

"About the chair --" 

"I tried to give Dick his own. He still sat in mine whenever the opportunity arose." 

"Oh -- that's really quite adorable." 

Bruce looks *painfully* happy for a moment, then sits and call up -- his file on Tim. "Jay won't even play *games* on a computer." 

"Not even the deeply violent ones?" 

"Not even the deeply violent ones which *Barbara* offers to play *with* him." 

"I -- hm." 

"Yes, it's problematic," Bruce says, and pulls up the most recent school picture of Tim. It shows a boy with many, many secrets in his eyes, and a professional demeanor that, Clark knows, had afforded him little pleasure. "Jay has allowed me to train him in the basics of computer use, but *only* in the basics. Perhaps Tim could encourage...?" 

Tim...

Clark lets himself listen -- "Oh." 

"Yes?" 

"Tim is... laughing. *Delightedly*." And Clark looks up and to the northwest -- "Jay is tickling Tim on Dick's bed." 

Bruce blinks. "Usually Jay gives me time to *have* the ridiculously perverse fantasies *first*." 

Clark coughs a laugh. "Bruce." 

Bruce hums. "*Does* he like lingerie...?" 

"*Bruce*, please --" 

"A joke only, Kal. I have no intention of seducing him." 

Clark blushes and winces. "Of course -- of course you must follow your *heart* -- oh, don't look at me like that --" 

Bruce grabs Clark's forearm and *yanks* until Clark is sitting on the console -- 

"This really is more for Robin-*sized* people --" 

"It can stand up to a *bomb* blast, Kal." 

"Yes, well, there's no reason to -- to -- *do* you find him beautiful?" 

Bruce smiles wryly. "I've yet to see him with an honest smile on his face --" 

"Oh --" Clark leans over and types, calling up the feed -- 

And there is Jason using his speed to tickle Tim mercilessly as Tim writhes and *fights* -- 

Really rather effectively, considering -- 

"Hmm. That will bruise." 

"Oh -- yes, I imagine so," Clark says, and tries not to look for signs of arousal -- 

Tries -- 

*Tries* -- 

He looks, up through the ceiling, and Tim is starting to sweat, and his heart is pounding -- 

And Jay's pupils are -- not blown. But definitely expanding.

"Kal...?" 

"They -- they desire each other." 

Bruce squeezes Clark's forearm. "They're young. It's -- a moment of pleasure for both of them --" 

"Yes, of course, and -- and I don't *mind* --" 

"Kal." 

"I've known -- I *want* Jay to make Tim happy, for them to make each *other* happy --" 

"Hm." And Bruce turns up the *volume* -- 

"Bruce --" 

" -- you ready to give yet, trainee?" 

"I -- I --" And Tim laughs breathlessly, *wheezes* -- 

"I don't *hear* you --" 

"Oh -- God, is this _Full Metal Jacket_ all of a sudden?" 

Jay's snort sounds *painful* -- 

Tim's eyes widen with still more *pleasure* -- 

And then Jay redoubles his efforts, grinning and spidering his strong, deft fingers up beneath Tim's loose t-shirt -- 

Tim *shouts* a laugh -- 

"I wonder..." 

Clark swallows --

And Bruce squeezes Clark's forearm still more firmly. 

"I know. I know -- distract me. Or --" 

"Do you think Tim will learn to wear more form-fitting clothes...?" 

Clark *feels* his eyes widening --

Feels his penis *hardening* -- 

"Bruce." 

"Hm. I'm not very good at this... game." 

"It's not a -- hm." 

Onscreen, Tim is arching in an obvious attempt to twist out from under Jay. 

Clark looks up through the ceiling -- in time to watch Jay tighten his grip with his beautiful, powerful thighs -- 

Bruce sighs. 

"You saw that." 

"It's fair to say that some part of me --" 

"Is always watching for moments like that, Bruce...?" 

Bruce squeezes Clark's forearm one more time before letting go, spinning his chair forward, and steepling his fingers. "We could choose to be adult about this." 

Clark frowns -- stops. *Stops* -- 

Bruce coughs a laugh so substantial -- 

So *lengthy* -- 

Breathy and -- and *beautiful* -- 

"Why do you *always* do that when I'm in a *bad* mood?" 

Bruce *grins* at him. "Some have said that I'm not a good person." 

"You're -- I dislike you." 

Bruce hums. "Noted," he says, and turns back to the monitor, where -- 

"Oh." 

"Yes, Jay *is* cupping Tim's face."

"I..." 

"To be fair --" 

"Bruce." 

"-- he *is* only using one hand." 

Clark chooses not to try to classify the sound he makes. 

The sound *Bruce* makes -- 

"Are you *laughing* again?" 

"At myself, only. It never occurred to me... well." 

"*What*?" 

"Dick tickles Jay rather often." 

"*Yes*, and --" 

"Jay..." Bruce sighs *ruefully* and taps his perfectly-impressive chin with his steepled fingers. "Jay rarely takes the opportunity to tickle others." 

Clark believes his frown may be somewhat... thunderous. "I..." 

"Yes." 

"He's missed... it." 

"Mm. He's told me -- on four *separate* occasions now -- that he's always wanted a younger sibling. Please stop grinding your teeth." 

Clark tries -- 

"Clark." 

Clark *tries* -- 

"Clark, that sound is reminiscent of what Croc did to my second -- and favorite -- car --" 

"I'm sorry." 

"It's all right --" 

"I know you were very fond of that --"

"It's --" 

Clark drops into a crouch next to Bruce's chair and buries his face in his hands. Again. 

Bruce cups the back of his neck. 

Clark shudders -- 

"You may have noticed --" 

"I --" 

"-- that I have utterly failed to fall out of love with you --" 

"Bruce --" 

"-- despite repeated, extended exposure --" 

"*Bruce*." 

"Clark." And -- there is amusement in Bruce's voice, but it's rueful, and gentle, and soft, and that is -- awful. 

And wonderful. 

And more than he deserves. 

And -- "What. What are they..." 

"Hmm. So you *did* notice me turning down the volume --" 

"Bruce --" 

"And I have, of course, been reading their lips. Jay is asking -- obliquely --" 

Clark coughs -- 

Bruce hums. "Jay is making an impressively manful *attempt* to ask Tim obliquely about his relationship with you." 

"How. How he feels about me." 

"You should probably --" 

"I need to go --" 

"Clark --" 

"-- Clark has been so." And Tim's voice is as low as it ever gets, breathy and breathless at once. Clark doesn't *have* to look up to see that he's staring up into Jay's eyes, *deep* into Jay's eyes -- 

"Been so what?" The huskiness in Jay's voice isn't a surprise, and neither is the *absolute* protectiveness. He had decided Tim was his own -- was someone who should *be* his own long before -- 

"I..." 

"Hey, c'mon, it's okay, you can tell me," Jay says, and the softness of his voice is at once his own and Robin's -- the voice Robin uses to coax the young and traumatized into sharing their deadly and dangerous secrets with the superhero who wants to -- *needs* to -- save them from them. And -- 

Tim laughs quietly. "Are you trying to protect me?" 

A pause --

A *lengthy* pause, if only subjectively -- 

Bruce *grips* the back of Clark's neck -- 

And Clark forces himself to look up, to *see* the wry smile on Tim's face, to see his intellect, his humor, his -- 

His personal *force* -- 

Bruce *sighs* again -- 

And, yes, he is beautiful like this, and in every *other* way -- 

And Jay jerks his strong chin at Tim *while* caressing Tim's cheekbone with one callused thumb. "Okay, yeah, you're telling me -- fucking *eloquently* -- to fuck right off with the protection shit, but I think we can *both* agree that I have a fucking point." And Jay... looks at Tim. 

Tim swallows -- and blushes. 

And turns away -- 

"I... yes. You do --" 

"*So*?" 

"You don't have to protect me from Clark." 

And Clark's heart *soars*. It -- oh, Tim knows! He understands, and he *will* welcome Clark back into his life, and he... but. His voice had been so low. So... quietly *rough* in all the *wrong* ways, and -- 

And Bruce is going to *injure* his hand, but -- 

"Tim? What is it?" 

"I've made... so many things difficult for him --" 

"Whoa whoa *wait* --" 

"*Listen* to Jay," Bruce says, and *he's* standing -- 

And Clark realizes that he is, too. On air. Because he's about to -- fly to Tim. That he -- "There's something to be said for *not* eavesdropping --" 

And Bruce shows his teeth. "Are we, or are we *not*, supposed to... help?" 

Clark -- winces. He doesn't grind his teeth... more than he's already done. 

Much -- 

He listens. He *listens* -- 

"-- *cares* about me --" 

"You're pretty obviously a great *guy*, Tim --" 

"Oh! I -- but -- thank you?" And Tim stares at Jay with an expression of... utter *derailment*. 

"You're *welcome*. And, you know, I *love* Chester --" 

"Why -- I mean. Um. Is Chester a... nickname?" 

"Oh, yeah. 'Chester, Chester, child molester'...?" 

Tim stares at Jay. 

Bruce hums... and crosses his legs. 

Clark doesn't *sigh* -- much -- 

And Jay snickers and *shoves* Tim -- with the hand he isn't using to *caress* him. 

"That -- is something of a mixed message?" 

"Hunh? Oh. Oh. Is it... do you... sorry?" 

And Tim blinks rapidly and somewhat -- his heart is beating faster -- "No! It's all right --" 

"No, I mean --" 

"You -- ah. You don't have to... be perfect in every *single* way," Tim says, and *attempts* to pull on a wry smile --

"And *you* don't have to fake it, bro. I mean, if I fuck up with you, you gotta let me know, okay?" And Jay's earnestness is... palpable. 

Thick. 

*Deadly* -- 

Well, perhaps not that. 

*Perhaps*, even though Bruce's eyes are closed again -- 

Bruce is *savoring* -- 

Bruce seems to be trying to *taste* Jay on the *air* -- 

"Bruce --" 

"Did you... I believe you said something about the two of us being utterly ridiculous...?" 

"Hmm. Perhaps," Clark says, moving back to the console and turning the volume back *up* for Bruce's convenience -- 

Or perhaps his suffering -- 

*Their* suffering -- 

"Look at the tension in Jay's shoulders," Bruce says, and his voice is almost... dreamy. 

"Yes?" 

"At this moment, he is considering... many things, truly." 

"Yes --" 

"One of those things is what he might do -- or say -- that would lead to having Tim in his arms --" 

Clark growls -- 

"Do you ache, my companion?" 

"Every --" 

"Did you..." And Tim bites his lip, vicious and neat, at once. 

The way Jay is watching him -- 

So *hungrily* -- 

Of *course* Jay sees how wonderful, how -- how *true* -- 

"What is it, bro?" 

"You -- ah. That. Actually," Tim says, and smiles wryly again, scooting back -- *away* from Jay -- and sitting up against Dick's battered headboard. 

Dick had always slept so wildly as a child -- 

Before he began sharing a bed with Bruce. 

"'That'? What that?" 

"Um." Tim bites his lip again -- 

And this time Jay tugs it free, gentle and careful -- "Tell me?"

And Tim shivers -- perhaps for the *obvious* plea in -- 

Jay has always been so *honest*, so *clear* -- 

"You -- called me... 'bro'. Twice," Tim says, and blushes so *deeply* -- 

And Clark can't help but remember the fantasy he had given Tim of Jay -- the fantasy he had *taken*, because Tim had enjoyed it so much, *wanted* it -- 

And had only lost the ability to enjoy it when -- 

"You don't like it? I don't have to --" 

"It's! It's okay --" 

"No, I mean -- I can be pushy --" 

"It's really okay, Jason -- I mean --" 

"And you can call me Jay --" 

"Oh, God --" 

"But you don't have to!" 

"I want to! Ah. Ah. I didn't mean to... yell." And Tim swallows. And stares at Jay. And swallows *again* -- 

His heart is pounding so quickly, so -- 

Clark wants to kiss his throat, and rest his palm over his sternum, and suckle his penis to *full* hardness -- 

It would take *moments* -- 

"So... uh." Jay grins at Tim ruefully and -- takes his hands. Both of them. He squeezes. 

"I -- yes?" 

"You like me?" 

Tim's expression is *panicked* -- but he doesn't hesitate before saying "yes. I -- yes. A great -- deal." 

"I like you, too." 

Clark clenches and *relaxes* his fists -- 

Bruce laughs so *ruefully* -- 

"I *detest* you --" 

"I would like to state, for the record, that I'm panicking *precisely* as much as you are, Clark." 

"You --" 

"Yes." 

Clark blinks and *looks* at Bruce -- no, he *studies* Bruce, and yes, there is tension at the corners of his eyes -- 

His *smiling* eyes -- 

His smiling *mouth* -- 

His... *ruefully* smiling mouth, and he's stopped steepling his fingers to grip at the arms of his chair, instead, and he *shudders* -- 

"Oh, Bruce, Jay *loves* you!" 

"And he is, in so very many ways, the brother of my spirit. But he has never truly wished to be *my* brother. And..." And Bruce gestures to the monitors -- 

Where Jay is, *absolutely* predictably, stroking Tim's scarred knuckles with relish and affection. 

"I am -- too old for him. He's *told* me that --" 

"*Bruce* --" 

"Has Tim *not* told you -- but. He is a very different young man, is he not?" 

Clark... licks his lips. And thinks of Tim's halting stories of his halting *friendships*, of Tim's dreams of companionship which were never -- *ever* -- especially different from either the partnership of heroes *or* the companionship of Kryptonian war-allies. 

Brothers. 

*Lovers* -- Clark groans. 

"You don't have to *be* too old for him. Clark, *go* to him --" 

"I won't --" 

"I *can't* take this -- this *chance* away from Jay --" 

"Bruce --" 

"Look at his *happiness*, Kal, I --" And Bruce growls and beats the console next to the keyboard with his fist once, *twice* -- "He will say it... soon." 

Clark -- doesn't have to ask what. 

"He will say it -- will Tim accept?" 

"Tim loves Jay... with all of himself. There is nothing -- when he's *seen* Jay, even from a distance --" 

"Will Tim give himself --" 

"I want --" And Clark laughs around something -- something *jagged* in his throat. "My companion, I believe you would *have* my love give himself utterly to Jay."

Bruce's smile is... wintry. 

And they watch Jay and Tim watch each other in silence so deep, so companionable, so *open* -- 

"I will do anything -- anything at all -- for Jay's happiness," Bruce says, and his voice is neither gritted nor rough. It is simply... honest. 

"You must --" 

"For yours, as well, my companion," Bruce says, and *then* grits his *own* teeth before shaking his head. "And then, of course, there is... Tim." 

And Clark is *gripping* the back of Bruce's chair -- 

"Everything is always new through Robin's eyes." 

"And beautiful, Bruce?" 

"I am only --" 

"I've always... you know." And Jay sighs and laughs softly and shrugs. 

"I... always?" 

Jay grins and squeezes Tim's hands. "I bet you'd be a pretty kick-ass brother." 

Tim flushes so deeply, so *completely* -- 

"I bet -- what do you like to talk about, hunh?" 

"Um." 

"What are your *hobbies*?" 

"I like -- I mean -- I was always focused on *superheroes* --" 

"Yeah, well, we're pretty interesting," Jay says, and waggles his thick eyebrows -- 

Tim giggles nervously -- 

"And that's fuckin' *adorable* --" 

"Oh, God --" 

"C'mon, what else --" 

"I -- I -- you don't *know* me!" 

"Let's fix that, hunh?" 

Tim pants and stares at Jay, studies *him* with his soft lips parted and grey-blue eyes wide... 

And Jay squeezes his hands again and jerks his chin at Tim. "See, I'm pretty good at reading people. I pretty much always know when someone's runnin' a game on me -- or tryin' to -- and I'm pretty good at figuring out when someone's a decent person -- though B's always pointing out that I *need* to stop making assumptions about *women*, but we're not talking about that right now --" 

"Oh -- I -- all right?" 

"Heh. Just -- trust me?" 

"I -- I do!" 

And Jay grins. "Yeah, you do. I'm also pretty good at telling when people *like* me, even when they're also freaked right the fuck *out* --" 

"I --" 

"And you totally have to *tell* me if any part of why you're fucked-up has to do with Clark, because, you know, he's great, but he can totally be kinda *overwhelming*. Like, even for people who are in *this* life. Even for *adults* who are in this life --" 

"I want. I want." Tim swallows and looks down for a moment -- 

"Hey --" 

And then he looks up again, fierce and steady and so beautiful, so *beautiful* -- "I want -- to live in a world where he doesn't have to... take care of me --" 

"You -- he's been too much for you?" 

"*No* -- I --" And Tim laughs ruefully. "He's been perfect. Like *you*. Only -- only just --" Tim shakes his head. "I don't want him to feel *obligated*. My mother -- gave him no *choices*. Of *course* he had to take me away, and... pull me into his whole *world*, even though he just wanted to be -- my *friend* --" 

Jay snorts. "Uh. I'm thinkin'. I'm thinkin' he jumped at *that* chance, bro." 

Tim blinks -- and blushes again. "I really... like that." 

And Jay grins, broad and wide and *wild* as he shakes himself in his usual distinctly canine fashion. "Cool." 

*Tim* grins -- and quickly... no, he doesn't sober himself. 

Clark doesn't think Tim is *capable* of sobering himself in this moment. But... he *quiets* his smile, and -- 

"Hey, you okay?" 

"Oh, I -- I just -- didn't want to --" 

"Smile at me?" 

Tim blinks rapidly for several moments -- and then his smile is a *blend* of ruefulness and wryness. "I've been told that my smiles can be... disturbing. When I'm not... careful --" 

"Uh. What?" 

"I –"

"*Who* told you that?" 

"Well -- I --" 

"I mean, I am *not* gonna say that some people don't have *real* fuckin' disturbing smiles. I mean, we live in fuckin' Gotham --" 

Tim *snorts* -- and blanches. "Oh, God. I -- sorry --" 

Jay snickers, letting go of Tim's left hand to punch Tim's shoulder companionably. "s'okay. Babs would totally glare at you for that, though --" 

"She -- she should *hurt* me --" 

"Nah, she only does that to people she *likes* --" 

Tim *squeaks* -- 

Bruce *hums* -- 

And Jay waggles his eyebrows. "I know, right? Mean chicks are the best." 

"I -- I -- ah --" 

"Anyway, yeah, it's not like she'd *really* get on your case for, you know, tripping and saying the wrong *thing*. She's a hardass in training, but not like, a bitch or anything. She's really cool." 

Tim smiles and bites his lip... softly. "She. She's seemed that way. At the library." 

Jay *blinks* -- "Because you've totally stalked her *there*. Oh, *man*," he says, snickering and punching Tim several more times -- 

Tim blocks fast and impressively -- 

Jay snickers more and begins throwing strikes -- 

Bruce sighs -- 

Tim makes a sound that, Clark knows, has more to do with laughter being *viciously* squeezed down to something as close to professional *nothingness* as possible -- 

"What *is* that, bro?" 

"Distraction," Tim says, and strikes for Jay's solar plexus -- 

Bruce *growls* -- 

But Jay flips back and off the bed before the strike can land, laughing and *snorting* -- "You *asshole*," he says, standing and straightening his rumpled clothes as he grins with absolute admiration -- 

And Tim is... beaming. 

Beautifully. 

He's gazing up at Jay as if he's never seen anything more perfect, more sweet, more *joyous* than Jay's scowlingly proud grin, as if there could never *be* -- 

But how had Tim smiled at Dick? 

Would Dick remember the small boy -- the *toddler* -- whose life he'd changed so *dramatically*? What would it cost *him* to -- 

"So -- uh. You should tell me more about yourself, you know," Jay says, and this time his voice *is* low, and... awkward.

Bruce stiffens slightly -- 

And *Clark*... knows. He *knows*, and he can feel it, dream it -- 

All but smell and *taste* it -- 

But Tim is confused. "Jay? Are you all right?" 

"Heh. I'm fuckin' great actually," Jay says, smiling ruefully and taking the last step closer to the bed, close enough to cup Tim's shoulders where he's kneeling at the edge, close enough to press his thumbs to the sides of Tim's throat -- 

"Oh --" 

Bruce hisses between his teeth -- 

"I'm fuckin' -- uh. I kinda wanna kiss you." 

And Tim... blinks at Jay.

Jay laughs ruefully and *painfully* -- 

Tim all but *yanks* himself away -- 

"Oh, hey, no --" 

"Don't -- don't. I know -- I mean -- of course I have -- a crush --" 

"You do? I mean, I could smell -- and that's a really *good* smell, and a lot of teenage boys don't smell all that great at *all*, but you really -- uh. I'm getting a little lost." 

Tim stares at Jay in *confusion* -- 

And Bruce laughs softly and pinches the bridge of his nose -- without looking away from the monitors. 

"*Is* that why he tends to restrict his attentions to --" 

"Seemingly the *entire* female half of the Eston student body...? Yes." 

Clark *coughs* -- "I... see." 

Bruce laughs again. "His sense of smell is, in fact, fascinatingly powerful. It's also why he showers at *least* twice a day *every* day, and, apparently, why the first gift he *asked* for from me was... cologne." 

"Despite your best efforts to the contrary." 

Bruce's smile manages to be sharp, rueful, cruel, *filthy*, *and* hungry. "He told me... to think of it as scent-marking him." 

Clark grunts --

"Yes." 

"I... hm." 

"He likes *your* scents, as well, my companion." 

"I *had* noticed his more --" 

"Animalistic traits, Kal...?" 

"I --" 

"You. Um." Tim swallows and *pants* -- and blushes at Jay *deeply* from far on the other side of Dick's increasingly rumpled bed -- 

"Oh, man, I really *did* make you uncomfortable," Jay says, wincing and -- punching his thighs -- "I'm really sorry --" 

"It's -- ah." 

"It's not okay!" 

"I'm sorry!" 

"No, *I'm* sorry!"

"I'm sorry -- for... ah." Tim frowns at Jay in obvious consternation -- 

And Jay snorts again and -- bites his lip. "I just wanna -- I mean. I wanna *talk* to you." 

"Just talk. I mean. That was a question." 

Jay raises his eyebrows *slowly* --

"It *was*!" 

Jay raises his eyebrows *higher* -- 

Tim *narrows* his eyes -- 

And Jay grins... delightedly. 

"Oh -- I -- you're playing with me." 

Jay bites his lip and *nods* slowly. 

"About sex? About sex." 

"Uh... is it okay? I mean -- is it? You've been hanging with Chester for freakin' *weeks* --" 

"We only just -- I mean. He hasn't been. He doesn't -- pressure me." 

Jay raises his eyebrows *again*, and that -- 

Bruce's laugh is truly -- 

"I'm back to detesting you, my companion." 

Bruce shows his *teeth* -- 

"*Yes*, because Jay knows me entirely too well, and also --" 

"You know he's like, totally in love with you, right?" 

Clark winces and considers drilling a hole in Bruce's floor with his face. 

"I." 

"I mean, he *said* it. I couldn't translate *all* of that outside, but --" 

"He -- he's a very caring --" 

"He's totally one of the most *loving* guys on -- well, in the freakin' *galaxy*," Jay says, and cups Tim's face, strokes his cheekbones with his thumbs -- 

"*Oh* --" 

"And the fact that he was fucking *killing* himself to keep it in his pants around you for *weeks* --" 

"He didn't seem --" 

"Trust me, he was killing himself --" 

"Jay, he -- he thought of me as *traumatized* --" 

"You totally were. You totally *are* --" 

"I --" 

"*Chester* just believes -- *wholecockedly* -- in the healing power of the sweatiest, dirtiest, stickiest sex he can talk you into *the second he can talk you into it*. Seriously, it's like his religion." 

"Oh. Oh, God. I. He must think --" 

"No, no, don't start thinking he was treating you with kid gloves or anything," Jay says, and strokes Tim's cheekbones again. "Not in the bad way, anyway. He just. He really wants things *perfect* for you." And his smile is *rueful*. 

Tim shivers. "I want. I want things perfect. For him." 

Jay licks his lips. "Yeah, hunh? He makes you... makes you smile?" 

"Please stop vibrating --" 

"Shut *up*, Bruce --" 

"Hmm." 

And Tim is looking down between himself and Jay, and he's blushing -- 

And he blushes even more deeply when Jay tilts his face up. 

"Do you love him, bro?" 

And Clark listens, and -- and *listens*, and Tim's heart is pounding, and his breath is so fast -- 

The rush of his *blood* -- 

"He's uh. He's a pretty loveable guy --" 

"Do you --" 

"Yeah," Jay says, and grins. "I mean, I'm *always* giving him shit, and I really *do* think he's a child molester --" 

Tim coughs. "I -- about that --" 

"It's totally different when Bruce does it." 

Bruce hums. 

"I... see?" 

And Jay's snicker *becomes* a hoot midway through -- 

And Tim's expression of deepest consternation -- 

Almost certainly bears a strong resemblance to Clark's own. Clark sighs. 

And vibrates -- 

He *tries* to *stop* vibrating -- 

He gives up and vibrates more -- 

And Jay leans in and kisses Tim's forehead, soft and sweet and -- chaste. 

"*Oh*."

"It's okay if you don't *know* if you love him, yet, too. Since he's totally *not* gonna pressure you." 

"He -- he -- do you really think -- I mean, of course he -- cares --" 

"He's in love with you. I mean, somewhere -- maybe a mile up, maybe down in the Cave with B -- he's listening to every word of this --" 

"Oh, *God* --" 

"You're *not* used to that?" And Jay raises his eyebrows again. 

"I -- I -- I *am*, but --" 

"You stopped thinking about it," Jay says, and nods. "I hear you. You've pretty much only *been* talking to him for a while, yeah?" 

"I -- yes. And the monitor-servant --" 

"And *that's* different, too, yeah, I hear you." And Jay jerks his chin at Tim. "So let's just leave *this* conversation for a little while --" 

"Oh -- we *can't*!" 

"You're *uncomfortable*, bro --" 

"But -- he's -- I can't --" And Tim makes a soft sound that's frustrated and *needful* at once, and -- 

And Clark is hovering -- 

"I believe it's *fair* to say that he cares for you, Kal." 

"It's *fair* to say that he wants to be fair to *me*, Bruce!" 

Bruce laughs softly -- 

"*Do* shut up --" 

"Do you ever spend any significant amount of time --" 

"*Bruce* --" 

"-- considering how *often* our charges and loved ones would do their level best to beat us *bloody* if they knew about our --" 

"I can't *focus* --" 

"-- self-esteem difficulties...?" 

Clark looks at Bruce. 

Bruce raises an eyebrow at him. 

Clark uses his heat vision to burn a Valentine's heart in the ankle of Bruce's right sweat sock. 

"Clark." 

And the left. 

"You -- I don't feel any better. I love you madly, however." 

"I, also, do not feel any better. And love you madly."

"Noted," Clark says, and they turn back to the monitors, where -- 

Where Jay is *massaging* Tim. 

Just his shoulders, and Tim looks like he *needs* it, but -- 

"I can't help but wonder..." 

Clark sighs. "Yes, Bruce?" 

"It's only... hm. I believe I would have *proposed* to Jay at this point." 

"Bruce, you propose to Jay *daily*." 

"Not aloud." 

"Bruce." 

"Anymore." 

"Bruce, next time I won't stint at branding you." 

Bruce hums. "And here I thought the romance was growing stale." 

"Heaven fore--" 

"Um. You --" 

"Yeah, bro?" 

"You should probably... ah." And Tim looks up at Jay through his long, thin lashes -- 

"You're really *fuckin'* pretty, you know it?" 

"I." 

"Uh. Sorry. I just -- you're -- anyway. What do *you* want to talk about?" 

Tim stares at Jay.

Jay squeezes Tim's shoulders *gently*. 

Tim continues to stare -- 

"Or I could keep just throwing out random stressful shit --" 

"That's okay!" 

Jay snorts. "Yeah, I thought so. So I know you studied judo. Aikido, too?" 

"Ah -- I just started. I've mostly studied karate," Tim says, and searches Jay's eyes, obviously looking --

And Jay grins ruefully. "Karate's easiest to study around here -- to get a really *good* dojo, anyway. I mean, there are a dozen places around here that *say* they'll turn you into a muay Thai master, but they're all --" 

"They're terrible, and -- I think. I think *you* want to talk about something else. Or. That was a question --" 

"Really wasn't," Jay says, and *pets* Tim, his hair and cheek and hair again -- 

"I --" 

"You're pretty good at reading people, too, yeah?" 

"I. I try. But --"

"Wanna talk to you about all the important things." 

"Oh -- then --" 

"But you have to be *comfortable* --" 

"I'm -- I'm not a very comfortable *person* --" 

"Not ever? Not even when Clark is holding you? I *know* he holds you. He fucking loves that -- and he's *good* at it, too --" 

"Oh -- oh, yes. He's." And Tim swallows and smiles and blushes and -- "I never thought. I never thought anyone could... hold me. Like that." 

And Jay grins. "Yeah, hunh? You never really -- and I'm not finishing that sentence!" 

"What? Oh. Oh --" 

"That sentence didn't happen! At all! In fact," and Jay *tackles* Tim -- 

"*Yagh* --" 

And rolls them over and over on Dick's bed until they're more or less positioned *near* the center, with their heads pointed roughly toward the southwest corner -- 

"*Jay* --" 

"Don't think!" 

"I'm not!" 

"You totally are!" 

"You -- but --" 

"Uh. Uh. Tell me about fucking Clark!" 

"Oh fuck." 

"Oh, hey, you curse!" 

"Um. Yes? At times." 

"Cool," Jay says, and grins. "It's gets lonely being the only one around here with a dirty fuckin' mouth." 

"You could... stop... cursing --" 

"No fucking way!" 

"Okay!" 

"Heh. Besides, B secretly fuckin' loves it," Jay says, and... wriggles on top of Tim. "Makes him feel all *dirty* and *rebellious*." 

Tim raises *both* of his eyebrows. "More so than simply making repeated love with the underage boy who is his -- ah. Son?" 

"Heh. He's got different priorities, you'll see." 

Tim bites his lip on a smile. "I... suppose I will." 

"What makes you happy?"

"Um. What?" 

Jay smiles ruefully again and jerks his chin at Tim -- carefully. They're close enough now that -- 

They're close enough for a kiss. 

The kiss Jay *wants* -- 

The kiss Tim has, undoubtedly, dreamed of -- 

The kiss he's dreaming of right *now*. Clark doesn't need to see it on Tim's face, in the way his soft lips are parted, in the way he's *failing* to even his breathing to something regular, something -- 

Something that won't make Jay growl *just* like -- 

"Do I make you happy, Tim?" 

"Yes," Tim says, and doesn't blink, doesn't turn away --

"Did you watch me?" 

"Yes." 

"On rooftops and --" 

"Yes." 

Jay winces and growls again -- 

"I'm --" 

"Don't you apologize. Don't you *dare* fuckin' apologize --" 

"But --" 

"Unless you're gonna apologize for not letting me *see* you -- I get fuckin' *lonely* --" 

"You -- but -- I don't understand --" 

"Everybody's so old and so smart and so -- and I *know* you're smart, too, and you've probably -- probably read more books than I've got *teeth* in my *jar* --" 

"You keep them in a jar?" 

"Oh, yeah, it makes a little -- it's a nice noise when I shake it, but --" 

"Jay --" 

"I mean, there are a *lot* of fucking teeth in there --" 

"I've seen -- I mean, you average... three a night?" 

"Yeah, though, you know, when we work the docks it's usually more like five --" 

"You're. Extremely attractive. Ah." 

Jay grins. "And you're fucking *violent*. I *love* that." 

"I -- well -- thank you --" 

"What else makes you happy? *What* books do you like?" 

"I -- obscure science fiction --" 

"Oh, man, I bet you like the shit you have to *learn* for --" 

"Well -- yes. I'm --" 

"No, no, more." 

"Okay? I also -- I like to. I subscribe to... um. Medical journals..." 

Jay grins *broadly* -- 

Bruce *hums* -- 

"B is gonna fucking *love* that -- hey, do you get into that obscure and terrifying disease crap? 'cause Thomas Wayne was *all* over that. That's, like, what he *bonded* with B over." 

"*Really*? People -- do that?" 

"Uh, hunh. Well, *they* did." 

"I... I like. Well, I more enjoy the... current research... um." 

"Is that what you wanna do? Like, when you're *not* out breakin' heads with me?" And Jay waggles his eyebrows with *absolute* relish -- 

And Tim... moans. 

"And I am *totally* turning you on. I fucking *win*." 

"You. Often do." 

Jay licks his lips. "Tell me how Clark turns you on...?" 

Tim blinks. "Um. That. Could take... a while." 

Jay grins and waggles his eyebrows again. "It'd get you talkin', though." 

Tim winces. "I'm sorry. I know -- I know you want me to be more --" 

"*Comfortable*," Jay says, slowly and with great emphasis, as if Tim is... slow. 

"I -- hm." Tim raises an eyebrow. 

Jay raises both in return. "What?" 

"I... wonder how comfortable it's possible to be with... ah. One hundred and forty-five pounds of superhero --" 

"Closer to one fifty-five now. I'm pretty sure Alfred feeds me every time I *think* about food." 

"I. You're. Very attractive." 

"Like 'em bigger?" 

"Um. Yes." 

"Heh heh. Clark --" 

"To be fair -- ah. If I 'liked them' any smaller than my own size, you'd have to call *me* Chester, Jay." 

Jay snickers and leans in to -- nuzzle Tim -- 

"Oh -- oh --" 

"Not gonna kiss you --" 

"You already kissed me --" 

"Not gonna *really* kiss you." 

"Oh. Okay?" 

"Mainly because I uh. I think we should definitely do more to... uh." 

Tim raises his eyebrow higher. "You should... rest assured that you have my full and undivided attention --" 

"Did Clark?" 

"Yes." 

"Did he..." Jay winces and leans in to -- sniff Tim. 

His cheek, his jaw, his throat -- 

His chest -- 

"I -- Jay?" 

"Uh. Don't mind me?" 

"Are you... do I..." 

"Smell fuckin' great. A little sharp, you know, all teenaged boys do --" 

"Okay --" 

"But, you know, I like that cologne you're wearing. Smells a little -- mm. A little animal," Jay says, and pushes his nose against Tim's throat again, nuzzling *hard* -- 

"*Nnh* --" 

"Little -- *musk* is the word B would use, and I guess that's right. Like the smell happy cats get around their tails --" 

"*What*?" 

"No, no, it's really nice. Kinda sweet and sexy --" 

"You -- *what*?" 

"Uh..." 

Clark looks at Bruce. 

"I have, of course, *asked* him about his senses..." 

Clark looks *harder*. 

Bruce's expression quirks. "My companion... I've thought, more than once, that *you* might be able to tell me more than *I* could tell you." 

"He's no metahuman. Despite... ah. *That*." 

Bruce sighs and closes his eyes for a long moment. "Jason Blood had... other things to say. About Jay's... differences." 

"Oh... dear. You might've *mentioned* --" 

Bruce opens his eyes and gives Clark a *sour* look. 

Clark winces. "Jay wanted you to keep it a secret." 

Bruce acknowledges Clark's egregious statement of the obvious with a nod. 

Clark winces *harder*. But -- "Did Blood... ah." 

"He had... suggestions, yes." 

"Jay... took none of them," Clark says. It is, perhaps, a *third* of a question. 

Bruce's expression turns sour again. "Jason *continues*... to have suggestions." 

"By which you mean --" 

"He is, undoubtedly, monitoring *this* conversation -- and perhaps Jay's conversation with Tim -- in hopes of finding an opening in which he can *offer* his further suggestions." 

Clark -- winces. More. 

Bruce's expression is reminiscent of that of a man who has been forced to treat the pith of a grapefruit as chewing gum. *But* -- 

"Bruce --" 

"There is, of course, something to be said for the fact that the man is well over a thousand years old, yes." 

"Yes, and --" 

"For the fact that I would enjoy Jay living -- happily -- for at least --" Bruce growls and grips at the edge of the console with both hands -- 

"Bruce --" 

"I believe this is *my* cue," Jason *Blood* says, as he walks out of -- 

That shadow wasn't even *there* before -- 

And he smells like something *bleeding* -- 

*Smokily* -- 

"Jason --" 

"Oh, don't scold me, *yet*, dear one -- and hello to *you*, Superman --" 

"I --" 

"And please, let me take this opportunity to *commend* you most heartily on your taste in young people," Blood says, *smiling* -- 

Clark *hates* it when he smiles, but -- "Thank you --" 

"Oh, you're *very* welcome," Blood says, and *winks*, which is even *worse* -- "In all honesty, I was wondering when someone was going to take young Mr. Drake in *hand* -- as it were --" 

Bruce coughs -- 

"Certainly the idea had come to... mind. More than once --" 

"You --" 

"Well, that's neither here nor *there* -- at the moment, anyway," Blood says, humming and turning to to *glitter* at Bruce. "Dear one." 

Bruce raises an *eyebrow* at Blood, which -- 

Which, to Clark's satisfaction, makes Blood seem *exactly* as much *smaller* than them as he *is*, even though Bruce is still seated and Blood is -- technically -- looming. 

And *armed* -- 

And -- 

And Clark realizes that the blood-smell is coming *from* the sword on Blood's back, if not the smoke-smell, and that *both* scents probably have far more to do with how his *scrambled* senses are interpreting the incredibly powerful *magic* surrounding Blood -- 

All *through* Blood -- 

("Don't get me *wrong*, Superman -- it's not that I don't *trust* you --" 

"It's just that you're never going to stand *down* around me?" 

"Well... yes, that would be the *gist* of the matter. You don't mind, do you? You reacted with such *pretty* nobility to dear Bruce's habit of carrying around that massive hunk of carcinogenic rock, after all.") 

Clark had said nothing whatsoever about liking Bruce more. 

Clark... had known Jason had heard every word anyway. In this moment, he does his best to repress a sigh -- 

And a *shudder* for the thought of Blood *watching* *Tim* -- 

And what would *he* have done with him? 

So young, so innocent and -- 

And there are any number of avenues of thought Clark is *allowed* to choose not to follow, hypocrisy and all -- 

And Blood is smiling at *him* again -- 

Clark doesn't scowl. 

Much -- 

And Blood hums and turns back to Bruce. "In case you were wondering, dear one --" 

"I wasn't." 

"You *really* should've been. The All-Mother -- that would be the goddess you know as the *Earth*, Superman -- is *moving*," Blood says, and folds his hands in front of himself. "More specifically, She feels her *beloved* child -- that would be Mr. Todd -- accessing *large* amounts of power, all unconscious and sweet and *innocent*, as he struggles to learn as much about Mr. Drake as he can in as short a period of time as *possible* --" 

"Is he in danger?" 

Blood smiles at him again, and -- and it's just as unpleasant as it ever is. "Yes and no, Superman. The All-Mother is *entirely* aware that Mr. Todd finds Mr. Drake *absolutely* fascinating and wondrous and lovely *and* pleasant of scent. She could be nothing *but*. She will thus do *everything* in Her power to *protect* Mr. Drake for Mr. Todd. However --" 

Bruce grunts. "Her ideas of protection could be... yes, I see." 

"I *thought* you would, given time and room to --" 

"Jason." And that was less a *word* from Bruce than a growl stretched over broken glass. It... 

Clark knows very little about Bruce's relationship -- his *history* -- with Jason Blood, beyond the fact that it exists, and that Bruce has never... offered it as something the two of *them* could share. 

Blood laughs -- and shows his teeth. "Will you give me my head at last, dear one...?" 

In *this* moment, Clark isn't certain whether to be jealous of that or not, or even of whether that's a foolish *question* -- 

And Bruce shows his *own* teeth. "You've said more than once that there is blood between us --" 

"Always. And forever."

Bruce inclines his head. "You've said more than once --" 

"I am yours, my liege," Blood says, and his smile... changes. Though it doesn't soften by one *iota*, and -- 

What? 

"Protect Jay. With all of yourself." 

"As you --" 

"Give him... *precisely* what he needs to survive -- and thrive." 

Blood flares his nostrils -- "I will need to take him... from time to time." 

"You will bring him *back*." 

"Always to *you*, my liege," Blood says, pulling his sword with a flourish, bowing *over* it, and -- 

And disappearing. 

"I -- Bruce?" 

Bruce holds up a hand -- and they both turn to the monitors -- 

Where Jay is nuzzling and sniffing and *licking* Tim's abdomen and -- 

"Oh, my." 

Bruce's laugh is brief, soft, and releases a great deal of tension. "Jason will hate interrupting that." 

"He's really not a very nice person --" 

"One of the *ways* he isn't a very nice person, my companion..." And Bruce raises an eyebrow at him *pointedly*. Which... 

Clark sighs and crosses his arms over his chest in -- something of -- an exaggeration of his current bad-naturedness. "I suppose you're going to say he's as much of a pervert as we are." 

"He's certainly done his best to give that..." Bruce sighs. "Tim's expression." 

"I'm. I'm trying not to..." 

"I understand. But... he is lost in this moment..." 

Clark swallows and grips at his own biceps. "He loves Jay very much." 

Tim *arches*, mouth opening on a cry -- 

The cry itself is so *quiet* -- 

Jay is sucking at Tim's *navel* -- 

And Bruce is stretching one hand toward the monitor. "I will not believe you if you tell me --" 

"He looked. He looked at me in just the same --" 

"Then there is your answer, Clark." 

"And would you be sanguine if I pointed out the number of times I've watched Jay mouth at you just that hungrily? Just that *greedily*?" 

Bruce growls -- and then grunts and stands when the headboard -- 

When the bed itself *explodes* in a riot of thick roots and vines, flowers and leaves and -- 

"What the *fuck*?" Jay kneels up amidst the wreckage -- no. The *wreckage* is carried away from him by the thicker -- and obviously *prehensile* -- vines. The flowers and leaves come closer and closer -- 

"*Superman* --" 

"Yes," Clark says, gathering Bruce to him and *flying* -- 

And even arriving at his speed doesn't get them there fast enough to keep Jay and Tim from being cradled, held, *enveloped* -- 

And petted. Hm. 

And Blood is just standing against the doorjamb -- with his sword strapped across his back again -- casually waiting for... *what*? 

"Blood --" 

He holds up one pale, long-fingered hand and smiles. "Best to let the goddess get her *greetings* in, I've found." 

"Is that --" 

Bruce growls and *twists* out of Clark's arms -- 

And Blood stands straight and -- sobers. "Be easy, dear one. *This* was inevitable once Mr. Todd began *reaching* for his Mother with... well, I *could* explain it, but --" 

"*Do* so." 

Blood glances at what's left of the bed -- 

And Jay and Tim *aren't* struggling, but Clark can't see them through the flowers, through the leaves --

Can't *smell* them through the *powerful* sweetness and musk that makes a part of him flinch and look for *Ivy* even though he knows that this isn't -- 

The *feel* of magic is skin-crawling, massive, impossible to *mistake* -- 

*Can* the boys move?

"*Jason*." 

"All *right*, dear one," Blood says, sighing and -- tugging Bruce further away from the bed. 

Clark forces *himself* to take a step back, even though it's the last thing he *wants* to do -- 

"*Talk* --" 

"Imagine, if you will, an *immensely* powerful witch -- that would be your *son* --" 

"I --" 

"Do be quiet now, dear one," Blood says, pulling his sword with his right hand and doing... *something* over it with his *left* hand until it's a *knife* -- and then *slashing* his right hand with it. The blood doesn't flow, at all, until he's *next* to the remains of the bed -- 

And sharing with it. 

"The witch in question -- again, your *son* -- is doing a summoning like no *other*. He is calling no ghost, no boggart, no demon, no squamous creature of the *deeps*," Blood says, and the vines curl away from his dripping, smoking blood -- 

And then drink it greedily. 

Curiously? 

He whispers something *incomprehensible* -- 

And then the flowers and vines uncurl from around Tim's and Jay's heads -- partially -- and Bruce and Clark can see that they're -- 

Breathing. Sleeping? 

Resting *comfortably*, and obviously in some kind of *trance* state. 

Blood raises an eyebrow at Bruce. 

"The All-Mother is... communicating with them?" 

"*Just* so, my liege. Because Mr. Todd called her with *everything he is*. Because -- and here I must confess that I am *only* guessing -- he was so desperately enchanted with Mr. Drake that he wanted to... well. Make him *kin*," Blood says, and smiles wryly at both of them. "I daresay you're *both* familiar with *that* sort of urge, yes...?" 

Clark does *not* turn away. He -- "I want. Tim can make -- he can have a very *happy* home here." 

"Oh, I have *no* doubts about that whatsoever, Superman," Blood says, and smiles *sharply* at him. "Mr. Todd wouldn't have it *any* other way -- and so, neither would the All-Mother." 

Clark -- also doesn't wince. "She... will there --" He shakes his head. "What will She do? What is She doing right *now*?" 

"At a guess? Draining them -- in non-harmful ways -- of information and... hmm... *nutrients*, for lack of a better term. The All-Mother feeds her children well, and, in return, demands that they feed *Her*. Knowledge, power, *experiences*. All the things which She does not *quite* comprehend about the noisome little creatures wandering around on her skin that are -- and are *not* -- Her own." And Blood looks at *him* pointedly before turning to Bruce. "This was *not* avoidable, dear one." 

Bruce... is focused on the boys. As, perhaps, he had to be. He doesn't move for long moments, doesn't *blink* -- 

Doesn't *breathe* -- 

And then he nods, once. "You'll take Jay as soon as... the All-Mother frees him." 

"Perhaps you'll wish to explain --" 

"We have..." Bruce shakes his head once. "I will take the responsibility for this. I have *allowed* his safety to be compromised, and that is unacceptable. And..." Bruce turns to Blood and raises an eyebrow. "Am I correct in assuming that the All-Mother will approve of these actions?" 

Blood laughs quietly -- and with relish. "The *All*-Mother will swallow me *whole* and find all *sorts* of ways to make me scream for the next five *billion* years should I so much as harm a *hair* on Mr. Todd's lovely little head... as opposed to taking this opportunity to teach him and teach him well. The All-Mother has, in fact, found any number of ways to *ask* me to do. Just. This." 

Bruce winces. "I --" 

Blood raises a hand. "You have never seen fit to follow the orders of deities before this point, dear one, and you *will* not start *now*. Please," he says, and offers... a gentler smile. 

A smile even *Clark* can read *as* gentle -- 

And Bruce takes a breath and lifts his chin for a moment -- before swallowing and nodding once. 

After that... they wait. 

The air -- the *room* -- fills with more and more plants as seemingly everything that was *once* a living plant remembers its history. 

Dick's old boxers -- he'd taken nearly none of them with him when he'd moved into Titans Tower, as his team had voted unanimously that they preferred him other sorts of underwear entirely -- decorate a vast and spreading tree that had once been his bureau like colorful, soft cotton fruit. 

Dick's socks drop and scatter like overripe squash from vines that snake across the carpeting -- vines that seem to need nothing resembling soil, water, or sunlight. 

Dick's bathroom door reaches for the still and slow-breathing boys on the bed like a dryad -- 

And *really* reminds Clark of Ivy -- 

Far, far, *far* too much -- 

And the scents of blood and smoke and *scrambling* are far too *close*. Clark fights back the *need* to stiffen -- 

"You may *always* feel free to tense around me, Superman," Blood says, from *beside* him -- 

Clark doesn't grit his *teeth* -- but. "Because you enjoy my discomfort?" 

Blood raises an eyebrow. "Because I don't take any *particular* pleasure out of watching you fight to *hide* it. I have no difficulty whatsoever imagining what it's like to be faced with... hmm. A superior force when one is *usually* not faced with much of anything of the kind." 

And that... was not a slap. At all. Even though he deserved one. Clark winces. "I'm sorry --" 

Blood waves a hand. "The magic is *actively* enervating to you at all times, yes? *Except* when you're too *weak* to feel the threat of it all around you?" 

Clark opens his mouth -- 

Closes it -- 

"Yes." 

"That *was* the impression I took. It's perfectly rational for you to find me... shall we say *difficult* to be around...?" 

Is this where he's supposed to be *fair*? 

*Judicious*? 

*Superman*-like? Or -- all right, not that. *No* one actually deserves -- 

Though Dick does enjoy -- 

And the dryad is getting *closer*, and that -- 

And that leads *directly* to him *flinching*, because those are Blood's long fingers wrapped around his *wrist*, and Clark is queasy, hurting -- 

No, shaking -- 

No, out of control, and he has to *fight* back his heat-vision, and his breathing -- 

He's breathing *cold*, and he can't stop, he can't -- 

Dangerous, *dangerous* -- "Let *go* --" 

"You *must* not attack the All-Mother --" 

"I *can't* control the -- not with you *touching* --" 

"Oh, dear, yes, I see --" And Blood releases him, stepping back -- 

And stepping back twice more before giving him a deeply *questioning* look. 

Clark... breathes, and breathes at a human-*like* temperature -- and shudders for the scents of magic, godhood, life, nature, beauty -- 

*Tim* -- 

Tim's *desire*-curiosity-need-hunger-confusion -- 

No, no, he must focus on his own control, his ability to -- to hold on to himself. 

And so he takes *shallow* breaths, and slow ones, and, after several seconds, he can nod at Blood. 

"All right...?" 

"Yes," Clark says, and -- he can't *not* focus on the door. The *thing* that had been the door -- "The -- dryad won't attack?" 

"Not even a little. For one thing, it's not *alive*." 

"Ah." 

Blood cocks his head to the side and smiles at him wryly. "Do you not recognize her?" 

It -- she's *closer* -- "I... take it that I should?" 

Blood gestures at the -- the *woman*. "Catherine Todd, late adoptive mother --" 

"Oh -- *oh*. I'd never -- Jay never showed me --" And a part of Clark is only jealous that Jay had apparently showed *Blood* -- 

"Ah, well, this is where being a *terrible* busybody comes in *handy*, I believe --" 

Or not --

"In any event, she's *quite* dead, even as these things go," Blood says. "She's not even entirely aware that she's *here*." 

"I... what?" 

And Blood looks... confused for a moment. Or... frustrated? 

Clark checks on Bruce -- he's crouched by the ruins of the bed and studying the boys -- and then turns back to Blood and raises an eyebrow. "You have no idea how to explain this to me." 

"Well... no." 

"Would pretending I'm Bruce --" 

"Superman." And that was... wonderfully quelling. Clark never actually gets tired of that. 

Clark hums despite himself. "Sometimes I can't actually stop myself from doing things like that. But... ah. Perhaps if you used... small words?" And he raises *both* eyebrows. 

Blood taps his lower lip with two fingers thoughtfully. "The All-Mother..." 

"Yes?" 

"Hm. Perhaps if you imagined this -- all of this -- as a *reunion*. Specifically, the sort of reunion which occurs when one devoted -- *utterly*, *truly*, *madly*, *deeply* devoted -- parent has, for one reason or another -- been separated from her child for, shall we say, fifteen years...?" 

Clark blinks -- 

And looks around at the plants again, at the way they're growing *actual* fruits -- and vegetables -- 

Many of the foods are the sorts of things which would never -- *could* never -- grow in this part of the world -- 

And other sorts of things are rolling and flowing and *growing* out of the entirely *destroyed* bureau and armoire. 

Decks of cards, battered balls, women's *scarves* -- 

And it hits Clark full-force all of a sudden, and he swallows, and he shivers -- "She -- the All-Mother has been... saving things for Jay." 

"*Everything*." 

"I..." He *glances* at the dryad, and, yes, the *detail* of her, of her *self* is impossible to mistake. She looks *nothing* like Jay in terms of the specific configuration of her features -- her brow and mouth are too narrow, her nose too long, her hair too obviously *matching* the brown of the wood -- but... 

Her smile is so broad and welcoming. 

Her eyes are so honest and so full of joy. 

Her body is so *strong* as she reaches for her boy, who she must have loved, who -- 

"You're looking at... hmm. Her memories. Or, perhaps more accurately, at the All-Mother's memories of her *ghost's* memories." 

Clark frowns. "But... not her?" 

Blood shakes his head. "Not truly. The All-Mother is not in the business of resurrections... of this sort. That I *know* of, anyway," Blood says, and spreads his hands. "I will not say it's not possible, however. Mr. Todd loved his adoptive mother very, very much." 

"Yes, I -- ah. Oh. This -- the dryad -- Mrs. Todd --" 

"I... overheard Mr. Todd explaining to Bruce that he found it... offensive to hear Catherine Todd referred to that way." 

It's *tempting* to say something about the word 'overheard', but not very much, overall, and only... 

Only in the same ways he'd say such things to *Bruce*, with whom he has shared stalking as a *vocation*. 

To Blood, he says, "'Catherine Todd' is... better?"

Blood inclines his head. "From what I have been able to discern. 'Your mother' is even better. Though I believe that will get *complicated* as it becomes necessary to refer to Jay's adoptive mother, his biological mother, *and* the All-Mother in various conversations," he says, and smiles wryly as he moves closer to the late Catherine Todd, who is now... 

Holding a hairbrush. 

A perfectly *mundane* hairbrush, of the sort anyone would be able to buy at a dollar store in any American city, Clark believes. 

There are... 

Yes, those *are* some of Jay's hairs caught in the bristles, though the hairs themselves are quite old -- and thinner, as though they'd broken from his scalp when he'd been a younger boy. 

Catherine -- he believes he can call her *just* that in his mind -- has an almost *wicked* smile on her lovely face, and while she is no closer to the bed -- 

And the boys are still in their trance -- 

\-- there is so much *life* in her. So much -- "I... Blood..." 

"She is not a ghost." 

"But --" 

"She is not *here*, Superman," Blood says, shaking his head and smiling as he reaches to stroke her hand -- the one with the brush in it. With him this close to her -- and with her *naked* -- Clark can see that she was *taller* than Blood by at least an inch and a half, and perhaps somewhat heavier, to0. 

"Is she... am I... perceiving the All-Mother?" 

"*That* I cannot say -- hmm." Blood frowns thoughtfully and plucks two hairs from the brush -- 

The hairs are gone. They -- 

"Blood?" 

"I... your vulnerability to magic is deep, deeply unfortunate, and *well*-known within the circles I travel." 

Clark winces. "I'm aware of that --" 

Blood raises two fingers. "You remain a special case, Superman --" And Blood laughs softly and pointedly. "Kal-*El*," he says, and gestures, taking in the entire room. "What have you noticed about the *life* taking over this space." 

"It's quite verdant and... unpredictable? I can recognize species from Southeast *Asia* --" 

Blood shakes his head once. "Not that. Look down at your feet." 

Clark blinks and does so -- and notices that there's a rough circle of carpeting approximately a meter in diameter around him that's entirely... clear. "That... I... hm." 

"Ominous, isn't it...?" 

"Well... *yes*," Clark says, and looks up again. "What does it mean?" 

"It means that you've just answered a question which has been positively *plaguing* me since I first became aware of your *existence*. To wit: Have you never wondered why you're *not* constantly under attack by *every* supernatural creature lurking in or around this plane of existence?" 

Clark opens his mouth -- and closes it. "I was about to say something... stupid." 

Blood smiles... flirtatiously. "I do appreciate you *nipping* that in the *bud*, as it *were*, because, yes, even the most *generally* benevolent things which go bump in the night -- and the day, and the twilight, and *otherwise* -- tend to find themselves positively *weak* when it comes to the prospect of... temptation." 

Clark shows his teeth -- for a moment. "I am aware that I make a tempting target, yes." 

"Among other things," Blood says, leaning in to *gently* coax one of the tiny orange flowers out of Catherine's carved hair before closing the distance between them and offering the flower to him. 

Clark raises an eyebrow and takes it -- and the flower immediately shifts, changes to a vine -- 

To a branch -- 

To something which *locks* around his wrist, tight and -- not *painful*, but thrumming, reaching, touching -- 

*Reaching* -- 

Clark catches himself stepping back, even though it's not as though that takes him further *away* from the branch -- 

The *manacle* -- 

The buzz in his mind is a *hum* -- 

"Blood, I --" 

"Give it just one more moment. I don't --" 

And then the manacle flexes on his arm, *becomes* a snake -- 

*Hisses* at Clark -- no. At the *spaces* *around* Clark, almost as if the snake can't... see him. 

And then the snake slithers away, slipping into the shadows near Catherine's slim, strong-looking ankles. 

"I... think I need you to explain that, Blood." 

"Do you?" 

"I --" 

"Call me Jason...?" 

Clark blinks -- "Yes?" 

Blood smiles -- warmly. "Please," he says, and gestures to the boys on the bed. "You will not leave Mr. Drake's side -- if you know what's *good* for you, anyway --" 

"I --" 

"*No*." 

"Blood --" 

"You will *not* leave Mr. Drake's *side*. False -- and it *is* false -- nobility of *that* sort will only teach that *terribly* lonely little boy precisely how to go about *not* trusting yet *another* adult. *This* one being the adult who taught him how to *love* --" 

"Stop!" 

Blood raises an eyebrow -- and lowers his chin. 

And Clark -- breathes. Pants, truly, and -- "You -- you were going to tell me -- something *else* --" 

"We'll get there --" 

"I don't *want* to -- to *leave* --" 

"Then *don't*," *Bruce* says, from his crouch by the remains of the bed. "Stay, and help -- please. *Please*." 

"I... Bruce?" 

Bruce turns to face Clark, and -- 

And he's still wearing only his workout shorts and the jock beneath it, his burnt socks and trainers -- 

"Clark. There is..." Bruce shakes his head once. "You cannot *work* here. Everything else... neither of us are *wise* in how we choose to go about negotiating our relationships. In how we choose to *love*. I believe it would be... a good idea for us to take... guidance in these matters." 

"Oh, I'm all *aflutter* --" 

"Jason." 

Blood *coughs* -- "Well, yes. In *any* event, Kal-El, what I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted by the absolute necessity of you staying *right* here with the boy you love madly -- and the man you love madly, and the other boy you love madly --" 

"You've made your point --" 

"Have I? *Good*," Blood says, and offers his -- abruptly *gauntleted* -- hand to Clark. 

Clark takes it -- and Blood squeezes his hand *firmly*, but instead of it feeling as though magic is being used on him, it feels the same as it would if Kara were gripping him, or Hal. He frowns. "What --" 

"A decidedly *unmagical* gauntlet -- by which I mean one *woven* with rather *specific* magic dampeners. I can strengthen myself however I wish... but I cannot *transfer* the worst depredations of my touch to *you*. A -- hopefully -- educational demonstration." 

Clark raises an eyebrow. "I'm afraid I'm still lost." 

Blood frowns again and glances around at the flowers, the fruits -- 

He spares a *long* glance for Catherine -- 

And then he squeezes Clark's hand again and meets his eyes deeply, heavily -- 

Clark grunts and *staggers* -- "Blood --" 

"You should really call me Jason..." 

"Are you -- are you forcing --" 

"Were I to do so -- or anything of the kind -- *I* would be forced to reach within your spirit and *twist* --" 

"You're *doing* that --" 

"I am *not*," Blood says, and his eyes are round, brown, full, *deep*, so deep, and -- 

The world is washed with red -- 

Clark grits his teeth and fights -- 

Holds himself *back* -- 

"I am doing nothing whatsoever to you, Kal-El --" 

"*Blood* --" 

"-- save, of course, for *forcibly* holding your attention. I *can* do nothing more than that." 

"I -- I -- you can't -- I can't --" 

"You are -- usually -- monitoring *endless* stimuli. More than any number of mortals -- and immortals -- could possibly comprehend --" 

"*Please* --" 

"I am *forcing* you to monitor *only* me... and it is killing *both* of us," Blood says, and shows his teeth -- no. He's *grimacing* -- 

He's *bleeding* -- 

He's --

From the corners of his *mouth* -- 

"This is -- mm. All very *theatrical* --" 

"*Blood* --" 

"*Jason*. *Please*." 

"Jason! *Please*!" 

Jason laughs, spattering Clark's *cheek* with blood -- "Oh, dear -- do try not to ingest too much of that," *Jason* says, and pants. "And do consider this: I know any *number* of tricks which could -- I *think* -- do you *terrible* injury. Terrible enough, perhaps, that you would have a *fair* amount of difficulty recovering from them --" 

"Yes --" 

"Because you are *vulnerable* to magic --" 

"I *know* --" 

"*Listen*, Kal-El. In *order* to work my will and *malevolence* on you, I must first do *this*. *More* of this," Jason says, and now -- now he's bleeding from the *eyes* -- 

"You -- oh." 

Jason laughs *heartily*, and the red wash over Clark's vision flexes -- 

*Pulses* -- 

Clark feels his stomach try to *heave* -- 

Jason *staggers* -- 

"Jason, *stop* --" 

"Yes -- yes, I think I will," he says, and steps *back*, letting go and -- setting himself on fire. 

Well. 

Hm. He shakes himself like -- like *Jay* in the flames -- which are well-contained within the vegetation-clear space where Clark *had* been standing -- 

And he is... healed. 

*Clark* still feels *scrambled* -- but he can stand, and breathe steadily, and -- 

And take in all the plants -- 

And Bruce's steady heartbeat and breathing -- 

And Tim's and Jay's continued *trance* state -- 

And the bats sleeping in the Cave -- 

And the jets flying from Kane International -- 

Everything. Everything. 

Clark shivers and forces himself back to calm -- 

"Better, Kal-El?" 

Clark smiles ruefully. "If I'm going to call you Jason..." 

Jason cocks his head to the side. "Kal...? Or Clark?" 

Clark spreads his hands -- 

"Do *not* pretend to casualness you don't feel --" 

"Don't pretend to lack a preference." 

Blood *flashes* his teeth -- and inclines his head. "Very well... Kal. Did you take my point?"

"The reason why I'm not constantly being assaulted by countless magical creatures of various... sorts is because, in order for them to attack me, they would first have to... contaminate themselves with me? Is that how you would put it?" 

Jason wags his head thoughtfully. "*Something* like that. It would be more *proper* to say that *most* of the magical beings on *this* plane of existence require a certain degree of... hmm... *familiarity* with that which they wish to *break* before they *can* do the breaking in question." 

"And that familiarity..." 

Jason smiles sharply -- and reaches up to stroke some of the spatters of blood from Clark's cheek. 

Clark shivers, but feels no swell, no pulse or *change* in his powers -- 

"That familiarity is rather more violent and *painful* than ones such as me tend to be willing -- or able -- to risk." 

"Jason..." 

"Yes?" 

"Should I be considering this an asset?" 

"You *hadn't* been?" 

Clark lets his expression be a sour one -- if mildly so. 

Jason laughs... richly. "It absolutely *is* an asset, Kal. And you should protect it with *every* deliciously alien fiber of your being," he says, and gestures to the ruined bed. "*She* cannot *see* you. I am *quite* sure that She can sense you, and that She can almost certainly smack you *down* should the *mood* strike Her... but She does not *know* you, and, even when She *tried* to know you, She could not *do* it. Can you comprehend that?" 

"I'm... tempted to say yes." 

"But you won't...?" 

Clark smiles ruefully. "No. Because I recognize that this is an area far beyond anything resembling the areas of my expertise." 

Jason's smile, this time, is... warm. "Mm. *Very* good. Especially considering the fact that, when goddesses measure their ages in the *billions* -- with a *b* -- they tend to be far beyond the realms of *anyone's* areas of expertise." 

"I... am feeling... science interact. With magic." 

"Badly?" 

"Yes, Jason." 

"Does it hurt?" 

"*Yes*." 

Jason laughs -- and grins. "Think only of this, then," he says, and nods -- toward Tim. "*When* the All-Mother decides that her beloved son is far too sad and lonely and that the *only* possible thing to do is *swallow* Mr. Drake *whole* for him --" 

Clark growls before he can *stop* himself --

"Well, Mr. Todd and Mr. Drake *will* be convincing about the problematic nature of *that* plan themselves, I'm sure. But *you*, Kal... well. *You* might just be able to do your own terrifically violent and convincing little things, here and there... and everywhere *else*, too," Jason says, and strokes one bloody fingertip down his own cheek... precisely where the blood had flowed when he had been *reaching* for Clark. 

Holding him -- and *hurting* for it, because... because the fact that Clark is vulnerable to magic does not mean -- and has *never* meant -- that magic-users *weren't* vulnerable to *Clark*. 

Clark takes a breath -- and swallows. And inclines his head.

"Noted, Jason. Thank you." 

"You're *entirely* welcome, Kal. Please, rest assured that I will do my level best to be of assistance... should it be required." 

Clark raises an eyebrow. 

And Jason hums -- and nods *subtly* toward Bruce, who has gone back to watching the boys. 

"Did you plan to make him explain your relationship?" 

"Words cannot express how very *much* pleasure I take out --" 

"Of making me suffer, Jason...?" And Bruce's tone is as dry as it *ever* gets -- 

And Jason shows his teeth. "That would *hardly* be the attitude of a worthy vassal, my liege." 

The sound Bruce makes is trapped between a hum and a rumble. "You don't say." 

"I *do* say --" 

"My companion," Bruce says, and licks the edges of his top teeth -- 

And rolls his head on his broad, powerful neck -- 

And flexes his thighs in his crouch -- 

And generally makes Clark consider begging for any *number* of things which would be better suited to bedrooms lacking goddesses, dryads which were once tragically-dead mothers, immortal sorcerers, and -- possibly, he could be convinced otherwise about this last -- teenaged boys. 

He is already convinced otherwise about this.

He was convinced otherwise about this approximately twelve minutes after meeting Dick for the first time and -- Bruce is talking -- "Mm?" 

And also Bruce is glittering at him. 

And so is Jason. 

Clark sighs. "I would like to point out, my companion, that you were *flexing*." 

"Was I." 

"Oh, yes, dear one. With malice aforethought. You really ought to be ashamed of yourself." 

Bruce makes that *rumbling* sound again -- 

And Clark comes closer because he *has* to -- and simply accepts the way the vegetation moves away from him -- 

Tries to accept it -- 

Tries not to view it as active *rejection* -- 

"You'll note, my companion, that my azaleas have never once tried to flee from your presence." 

"Yes, not even when I've ejaculated on them, but *still* --" 

Bruce cups Clark's jaw -- holds it between his fingers and holds Clark's gaze. "Will you stay." 

It isn't -- and *is* -- a question. And it's Bruce, and so, perhaps, it's the most important one. But -- "You've never asked --" 

"I've always wanted to." 

Clark *grunts* -- 

And, yes, Bruce's smile *is* rather malicious, which really does *precisely* suit the man for deep emotional conversations about *love*. 

Clark sighs. "I've always wanted to be *near* --" 

"Then you *will* stay --" 

"Of course --" 

Bruce inhales sharply -- and smiles. It *isn't* one of the Batman's smiles -- it's too warm for that -- but it's still a smile to *bleed* on -- 

A smile that makes Clark *feel* all the blood still on his face -- 

All the blood in his *body* -- 

"Kal..."

Clark leans in because he *must* -- 

"Hezekiah Wayne was a spirit-mage of middling power when he emigrated to Gotham in the late sixteenth century," Bruce says, low and rough and *purring*. "He did several ill-advised things to increase both his power and wealth -- and the power and wealth of his descendants. Along the way, he gained the physical, spiritual, emotional, and *magical* allegiance of Jason Blood." 

Clark blinks. 

Considers. 

"I --" 

Bruce kisses him then, hard and deep, hard and *sharp*, biting Clark's lower lip *viciously* -- 

Biting it hard enough that he *must* be hurting his *jaw* -- 

Biting it and growling so low, so dark, so *perfect* -- 

Biting him again and again and *again*, and *then* kissing him, pressing so close, *gripping* the back of Clark's neck and *holding* him there as he -- 

As he kisses Clark exactly the way he'd done the first time, when they were blaming the drugs, and the adrenaline, and the fact that Clark would always be on his knees for Bruce -- 

Always always -- 

Except that Clark *has* to kiss Bruce back and make it harder, *bruise* him the way he's *asking* for -- 

Bruce slurs "yes" into Clark's mouth, opens and *softens* -- 

"I do *hate* to interrupt," Blood says -- 

And Clark growls *helplessly* -- 

And Bruce *laughs* -- 

And *Jay* snickers. "Oh, no, don't mind us. We're just, you know, back from being spiritually kidnapped by a *god* and all --" 

Tim brushes away several vines. "You... ah. I would think you'd want to be more... specific? Than that?"

"Uh. Well, yeah. But, you know, there was my *mom*, and she was my *mom*, you know? And then there's the All-Mother, who's kind of -- oh my fucking *fuck*, why is my mom a *tree*?" 

"Oh, is that your --" 

"Jesus! I mean Christ! I mean shit! I DEFINITELY MEAN SHIT WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK!" 

"Mr. Todd," Blood says, and that really is an *admirably* soothing tone, considering. "You may wish to consult *further* with your Mother-goddess --" 

"She just fucking let us *go*!" 

"I do *understand* your reluctance, of course, but --" 

"When's the last time *you* got kidnapped by a god?" 

"I tend to avoid that sort of thing, Mr. Todd, being as how *most* gods do their level best to, shall we say, *test* my immortality, but --" 

"WHY IS MY MOM A TREE?" 

"Well..." And Jason takes a deep breath... and hands Jay the hair brush he'd taken from Catherine. "While I would not *dream* of speaking for the All-Mother --" 

"What -- I -- this is *my* brush!" 

"I had assumed so --" 

"WHY DO YOU HAVE MY --" 

"A moment please, Mr. Todd...?" 

And Jay looks... panicked, to say the least. His *scent* has hints of anger, fear, worry -- 

Clark stands and moves closer. "I believe it's -- I believe it *will* be all right, Jay." 

"How do *you* know, Chester?" 

Well -- Clark licks his lips. "That... is a very good question." 

"*Is* it?" 

"I --" 

"Or is it a question you wanna look to *Blood* for answers to?" And Jay's expression is... pointed. 

Clark doesn't *wince* -- 

But Jay's *expressive* scowl says he really didn't have to. 

"Jay --" 

But Bruce holds up a hand. "Jay. Did your... deity speak to you about the state of your education?" 

Jay opens his mouth -- 

Closes it -- 

And -- flushes, not blushes. "Don't -- don't use fucking *euphemisms*! I *know* you're talking about -- about makin' me learn fucking *magic* --" 

"Yes," Bruce says, low and flat -- 

"*You* said it would be *my* choice!" 

"I also said --" 

"No --" 

"That there would be times --" 

"*No*!" 

"-- when that which did -- or *could* -- endanger your life --" 

"*Bruce*!" 

And Bruce... raises an eyebrow. 

At Catherine. 

Who is... kneeling. On the bed. 

Behind Jay.

While... reaching.

For him. 

And continuing -- 

"OH MY FUCKING FUCK!" 

\-- to smile. 

"It's really quite impressive how *silently* she can move," Jason says, resting the hairbrush on the bed and reaching to play with his sword-cum-knife again. 

"FUCK FUCK FUCK --" 

"I mean, her being *wood* and all --" 

"I CAN'T EVEN. SHE --" 

"Hm." 

"Yes, Kal?" And Jason looks to him -- 

Clark licks his lips -- 

Looks *slightly* away from Catherine -- 

*Not* completely away -- 

Just enough that he can be *positive* that Tim's eyes are, in fact, as widely open as they possibly can be, and that the discomfort on him that he can smell -- 

No, Clark won't ask him if he needs to urinate. 

Catherine is in hugging distance of *him*, too, after all -- Clark is reasonably sure that *Red Tornado* would have to urinate in that situation -- 

"FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK OH JESUS I MEAN FUCK --" 

"Did you have a question, Kal...?" And Jason truly is...

Well, he's *not* playing with the knife. He's doing -- doing *passes* with it, turning and turning it in his hands in a way *similar* to how Dinah warms up when she's going to be *working* with her knives, but also -- 

Also, the smell and feel of magic in the air is... growing. 

Clark shakes himself, *steels* himself -- 

"Terribly sorry, Kal, but --" 

"No, it's all right --" 

"FUCK FUCK IS SHE STILL MOVING OR *NOT*?"

And Jason smiles. "I believe you can understand why I'd wish to remain in a state of *readiness*...?" 

"Well -- *yes* --" 

"And Mr. Todd, *she* is not moving at *all* --" 

"What are you *talking* about, man?" 

"Your adoptive mother is *not*... in that body --" 

"I *know* that! I can -- I can't *feel* her. She's not -- I mean I can -- I can *smell* her, and she's -- she was -- she *touched* this and everything --" 

"Oh, yes...?" 

Jay frowns at Jason. "You couldn't tell?" 

Jason stops doing passes with the knife and spreads his hands. "There are very *few* things I do with the dead, Mr. -- all right, that was a *terrible* lie," Jason says, laughing richly *and* dirtily -- 

Jay *scowls* again -- 

"Why don't you tell us more about what *you* can discern?" 

"*You* --" 

"*I* only knew that *was* your adoptive mother --" 

Jay opens his mouth -- 

"Or rather, a memory of a *memory* of your adoptive mother, because I'm a busybody who *eavesdrops* on your private conversations with my *liege*," Jason says and raises an eyebrow. 

Jay -- frowns thoughtfully, not scowls. 

Jason raises his eyebrow higher -- 

Bruce maintains *perfect* stillness -- 

*Tim's* stillness is *less* perfect -- he keeps swallowing -- but he's doing a very good job of not blinking very much as he keeps as much of his attention as possible on Catherine. 

Clark... 

Clark honestly isn't sure whether she's any closer or not. 

Clark would like to wrap his arms around Tim, and perhaps -- *perhaps* -- tug him off the ruin of the bed, and hold him close, and show him -- 

Show him *something* about this house he'll be living in, this *home*.

Show him his *room* -- 

Feed him something wonderful that Alfred has -- 

And Tim is looking at him, shy and -- smiling. 

Clark swallows, and does nothing to hide his shiver -- 

Tim *searches* him, as if he's *confused* about something -- 

And then Clark remembers that Jay had told Tim that Clark was in love with him, that he *is* in love, that this is something which *must* seem strange, grasping, too *fast* -- 

"SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!" 

And they -- all -- turn to see that Catherine is touching Jay's cheek. 

Softly. 

With a pale-green flower between her slim, wooden fingertips -- 

And her lips parted in a broader smile -- 

And a scent of -- 

Earth, not flowers, or wood, or -- 

No, there's an *absolutely* female scent to go along with all the male terror, caution, sweat, and *magic*, but Clark is at a loss as to what *species* it could be -- 

And Clark can't discern what *emotions* the female in question -- 

"God, *okay*, *okay*," Jay says, taking the flower and -- eating it. 

Bad-naturedly. 

When Catherine sighs, the feel -- the *pull* -- of magic in the air grows staggering and *massive* -- 

Clark can't keep himself from *reaching* for Tim -- 

"Not *quite* yet, Kal -- She *will* try to stop you." 

"I have to --" 

"I *believe* we're coming close to *something* of a breakthrough," Jason says quietly -- 

And Jay swallows -- 

Licks his lips and shivers -- 

Tugs the two pink flowers out of Tim's hair and eats *those* -- 

"Now," Jason says -- 

And Clark doesn't wait, scooping Tim into his arms -- 

"*Oh* --" 

\-- and stepping back several paces until he's close to the -- decidedly warped -- door to the hallway. Several vines and creepers fold and coil and *whip* toward him -- toward *Tim* -- 

"Mr. Todd. Call. Your. *Mother*." 

Jay *growls* at Jason, but... it's not even close to a human sound. It's low, flat, canine, and *menacing* -- and *obviously* surprising to Jay, because he stops and blinks at himself -- 

And Jason raises his *eyebrow* again -- 

"Uh..." 

And several of the vines and creepers move to pet and soothe and *comfort* Jay -- 

And so does *Catherine* -- 

"YAGH -- I'm *okay*, Mother!" 

And Clark feels the curious sensation of the world -- the universe? -- *pausing* around him -- 

Around them *all* -- 

Except, of course, for Catherine. 

Who finally -- and it truly does feel like a finally -- hugs Jay. 

"Fuuuuuck this is so fucking CREEPY!" 

"I did *say* you should --" 

"Fucking *A*, *fine*," Jay says, and *slams* himself back toward Catherine -- 

Who stops looking *remotely* human -- 

Or wooden -- 

Or like *anything* but a deep, earthen *pit* -- 

"*Jay*!" And Bruce *lunges* -- 

"Gimme a *minute*, B --" 

And then Jay is gone -- 

And the scent of earth and female is gone, *utterly* so, and -- no, the feel of *magic* is still there, but Clark is sure -- 

Clark is *almost* sure that it isn't his imagination that he can identify -- no. He can *ask*. "Jason, am I -- is that *only* your magic I can sense?" 

"Oh, yes, Kal. The All-Mother is *entirely* gone from this place for the moment --" 

Bruce *grunts* -- 

"Worry *not*, my liege --" 

"Why. Not." 

"*Because* even if the All-Mother did *not* undoubtedly have all *sorts* of plans for your son which involve him remaining on *this* plane of existence, *he* has plans of that sort." 

Bruce flares his nostrils -- 

Flexes his *fists* -- 

He's *gripping* at what certainly appears to be trailing pea shoots, and really, Clark isn't sure whether he should damage those or *not* -- 

"My companion --" 

"I -- am concerned," Bruce *grits*. 

"This is understandable," Jason says, flicking his wrist -- and his knife is a sword, once more, that he sheathes on his back. "However, I truly do believe that this is going rather better than we had *any* right to expect." And he folds his hands in front of himself. 

"Ah. I would like... I have many questions," Tim says, quietly. And then winces when they all turn to him -- 

And then obviously does his best *not* to squirm in Clark's arms -- 

Clark squeezes him firmly as much to hide his fidgets as to *do* it -- 

And that's a lie. 

Jason smiles at Tim warmly. "Mr. Drake. I look forward to answering as many of your questions as you choose to direct to *me*... but I suspect there will be a limited time for me to do so, as... well." 

Tim blinks rapidly -- "Oh, I -- of course. And it's a pleasure to meet you -- ah. Mr. Blood." 

Jason's smile is a little *too* warm -- "The feeling is *entirely* mutual, I'm sure," he says, and turns back to Bruce -- 

Clark squeezes Tim again and leans in -- 

He can't stop himself from leaning in -- 

But he restrains himself to one *brief* nuzzle of Tim's ear before whispering: "There is much to this that Bruce and I are only just learning for ourselves, fine one." 

"Oh -- I -- yes?" 

Clark sighs -- 

Tim shivers -- 

Clark kisses Tim's ear lightly. Twice. "Yes. We will need to know what you spoke about with the All-Mother --" 

"Of course --" 

"-- and we will tell you everything. *Everything*." 

Tim licks his lips and *starts* to turn to face Clark, starts -- but doesn't finish. There is a blush in his cheeks, and his heart is pounding -- 

Not with fear. 

Not with fear. 

"Fine one...?"

"You'll. You'll really stay. Close?" 

A part of him -- perhaps the part which will always and *only* be Clark Kent -- is tempted and somewhat *driven* to stammer, to demur and promise to be nowhere -- 

To never be *anywhere* Tim wouldn't desire him -- 

The rest of him is, in fact, sniffing Tim's hair. 

"Oh, I... do you like the smell of flowers in my hair, Clark?" And there is... just a touch of a laugh in Tim's voice. 

Humor -- absurdist, surreal -- is one of Tim's favorite things, Clark knows, and he knows he'll surround Tim with it at all times -- 

All he wishes -- 

"Perhaps..." 

"'Perhaps'?" 

"Perhaps somewhat less than I would if I weren't... hmm... feeling somewhat jealous of a goddess --" 

Tim coughs quite, quite gratifyingly -- 

Clark grins -- 

"Clark, I --" 

"You *were* cuddling with -- ah -- *Her* for quite some time, Tim." 

"I'm not -- I'm not comfortable *calling* that cuddling --" 

"Oh, no? But all of those vines and... hmm... tendrils --" 

"Oh, God -- I mean -- oh, dear --" 

"They seemed so very *friendly*, Tim --" 

Tim *snorts* -- 

And Clark grins because he must, he *must* -- 

And Bruce gives him a *look* from over Jason's shoulder, hot and hungry and amused and needy and wild and -- 

And entirely *Bruce*, because he *immediately* turns *back* to Jason -- 

Jason is saying -- *something* to Bruce. It's not that Clark can't *hear* him perfectly, it's just that parsing the language -- 

Parsing the words *as* a language -- 

Parsing the *sounds* as *words* -- 

Jason turns and gives him -- and Tim -- a rueful smile. "My apologies to you both. What I'm discussing with Bruce impacts directly on Mr. *Todd's* secrets. While I feel *quite* confident that he will wish to share those secrets with you both sooner rather than later..." He spreads his hands. 

Clark nods -- 

And Tim swallows and nods. "I -- thank you." 

Jason raises an eyebrow -- and smiles approvingly before inclining his head to Tim and turning back to Bruce -- 

Who is giving Tim a *burning* look which makes Clark want to... 

Carry Tim out into the hall. 

Which, in turn, makes Bruce *smile* at him *obnoxiously*, and Clark adds 'teach Bruce how to behave with the people you want to have move in with you' to those things he'll get to just as soon as someone builds a time machine which *won't* endanger the entire warp and weft of space-time. 

For now...

For now, he indulges himself utterly in *nuzzling* Tim's ear -- 

"Oh -- oh, I like that --" 

"I love everything about you, fine one."

Tim *moans* -- and Clark knows that was louder than Tim wished it to be. 

He can't regret it with any part of himself, however. "Beautiful," he says, and promises himself that he'll give Jay many gifts for allowing this --

*Forcing* this -- hm.

He'll give Jay gifts that will, hopefully, not offend -- hm. 

Clark eyes the large, fragrant cantaloupes growing near Dick's tumbled, jumbled collection of old clown shoes. 

And then he eyes the back of Jason's head. How -- exactly -- *is* the All-Mother *Jay's* mother? 

How did they not *notice* that?

How was it *possible* not to notice that?

Diana wasn't -- directly -- related to *any* of the gods from whom her powers came, but it's still abundantly clear -- at all *times* -- that she is... divine. That -- 

"Clark?" 

Clark blinks -- and turns to find Tim eyeing him curiously -- and thankfully *not* worriedly, considering the loss of his attention -- 

Tim *grunts* quietly -- 

And Clark realizes that he is... clutching Tim. 

Somewhat. 

And also tugging him -- 

Well, now they *are* in the hall. 

"Did you... want to take me --" 

"Everywhere, at all times," Clark says, kissing Tim's cheek -- 

Again -- 

*Again* -- "But first back in *here*," he says, and returns them to Dick's room -- 

What *will* they tell him about it? 

"Ah. Are you sure?" And Tim's smile is small and wry and -- 

And Clark is staring. "I want to..." But he doesn't know how to end that sentence. 

Tim raises an *eyebrow* at him -- 

"The first time I saw you, at the party..." Clark licks his lips, and tastes the ghosts of cinnamon sugar and butter -- 

"Yes?" 

"I very nearly dragged you into an empty tent and licked every part of you."

And Tim gasps -- for him -- 

And parts his lips -- 

And *searches* him -- but. 

"Jay was licking your abdomen." 

"He. He's very... ah. Affectionate," Tim says, and frowns slightly. "And perhaps somewhat canine?" 

"There has always been a certain charming puppyishness --" 

"Those growls weren't very... puppyish." 

Clark breathes through his -- Clark tastes Tim, his love, his *love*, on the air. "Did you like them." 

Tim parts his lips further, so *soft* -- "I want... to give the right answer --" 

Clark shakes his head, shifting his hold on Tim to one arm so that he can touch Tim's face with his other hand, stroke his cheek, his mouth -- 

So *soft* -- 

"You trusted Jay's arousal for hearing what you liked -- what *aroused* you -- even when it didn't directly involve him." 

Tim inhales -- not sharply. Nothing could be sharp with his lips parted like that, with a gasp so *near* -- 

"Please." 

"You --" Tim licks his lips and searches him more, *more* -- 

"Please," Clark says again, *urges* -- 

"I want." Tim swallows once more. "Jay was... very clear." 

Oh, yes, and always. "How must I make myself clear to you, fine one? I want you to know everything of me. I want you to *feel* me, and have me, and --" And this growl is -- 

Not human. 

But rather more human than one of Jay's. 

It still makes Tim make a *soft* sound, and *jerk* in Clark's grip, and *wriggle* -- 

"Be still, please." 

"Oh -- I apologize -- I don't want to be -- difficult --" 

"You never could be." 

And Tim's flush is deep, *dark*. "You're. You've been... holding me. For a long time." 

"I would hold you... well. Hm." 

Tim blinks and... searches him once more. 

Clark lets himself smile very, very wryly, indeed. "I tend to make an effort to avoid making the *egregiously* creepy declarations until... hmm... somewhat later in the relationship --" 

"Yes," Bruce says, low and dry and right *there*. "Until it's far too late to escape." And he moves to lean against the warped and distressingly *alive*-looking door-jamb -- 

Blocking *Clark's*... escape -- 

And Tim's laugh is quiet and bright and scandalized. 

Bruce hums. "Tim Drake." 

"Bruce Wayne." 

Bruce inclines his head -- and offers his hand, thus necessitating Clark *moving* Tim -- 

Clark wasn't *ready* to lose those hands from his chest -- 

And Bruce is laughing at him. 

Silently, and not actually *looking* at him -- or taking any *noticeable* attention away from Tim -- 

But still laughing at him. 

Damn him. 

Clark moves Tim anyway -- 

And watches Tim's small, strong hand be *swallowed* by Bruce's own --

"I need something from you, Tim -- may I call you Tim?" And Bruce is *gripping* Tim's hand -- 

And staring *deeply* into his eyes -- 

*Holding* his *gaze* -- 

Holding every *part* of Tim with just the -- the admirable *force* of his *personality* -- but.

But Tim still looks to *Clark* for a moment which makes him -- 

Which makes him need even more than he already did, makes him ache, makes him -- soar. Somehow, in some way, he has earned a measure -- a *deeper* measure -- of Tim's trust. He would like to know *how* -- he would like to know *everything* -- but mostly he would like to bask.

Especially since the trust has allowed him some measure of... generosity of spirit. Clark inclines his head to Tim... 

And Tim smiles at him again, quick and bright, then turns back to Bruce, pausing to look at his swallowed hand only for a moment before focusing on Bruce's eyes, which are wild and full and -- avid. 

"Tim..." 

"I -- yes, Mr. Wayne?" 

"Hm. I'm going to have to insist that you call me Bruce." 

"I -- all right --" 

"And that you always -- always -- be precisely as open, honest, and... hmm... clear with my loved ones as you've proven yourself entirely capable of being." 

"I." 

Bruce raises an eyebrow at Tim. 

Tim raises one back. 

"Would you prefer to lie to the people I love most, Tim?" 

"Do you always introduce yourself with impossible questions?" 

Bruce hums... deeply. And with relish. "Some have said I harbor more than my fair share of character failings... but."

Tim raises his eyebrow *higher* -- 

Bruce shows his teeth. "Tim. You make Jay and Clark rather deliriously happy." 

The expression on Tim's face -- 

Well, it could peel paint. 

It's really quite impressive -- 

And Bruce breathes a laugh. "Tim..." 

"Flattery --" 

"Will get me nowhere...?" 

Tim opens his mouth -- closes it and nods, flushing darkly. 

"I didn't mean to offer *flattery* at all, Tim," Bruce says, and squeezes Tim's hand -- firmly, but still gently. 

Tim narrows his eyes. 

Bruce breathes another a laugh. "I assure you --" 

"I have no reason to trust you," Tim says, short and -- 

And rather breathtaking truly -- 

Bruce *coughs* -- 

And Clark sighs and pulls Tim close enough -- 

"*Oh* --" 

\-- for a kiss -- 

"I --" 

Perhaps two or three -- 

"Clark --" 

"He really doesn't have any reason to trust you, Bruce," Clark says, arranging Tim in his arms -- 

Rearranging -- 

Cuddling -- "I mean -- you're a very shady character." 

Bruce looks down at his -- empty -- hand. 

And then looks up at him. 

And then raises an eyebrow. 

And then turns back to *Tim* -- 

Who swallows. "I... realize... that I'm being somewhat. Ridiculous." 

Bruce smiles warmly -- 

And Clark takes the opportunity to kiss Tim's cheek again. "Perhaps a bit --" 

"I'm --" 

"But *only* a very small amount, Tim," Bruce says, and crosses his arms over his chest. "You are not -- yet -- my subordinate partner, and I have no right to treat you as such." 

Manipulative *ass* -- 

Tim *vibrates* -- but he stops, and he lifts his *chin* -- and lowers it to protect his throat. "No. Ah. You don't." 

Bruce flares his nostrils. "How would you like for me to treat you --" 

"Bruce," Clark says, and lets there be a *fair* amount of *warning* in his voice -- 

Tim *blinks* -- 

And so does *Bruce* -- 

And Clark remembers that Bruce was raised by very wealthy and intelligent and competent and beautiful and well-bred wolves, yes including Alfred, and has no idea how to behave himself around people he *doesn't* want to lie to with every word out of his mouth. Hm. "I... one moment." 

Bruce inclines his head with a *rueful* smile -- 

And Clark flies Tim out of Dick's room and down the hall -- 

Into the dimness -- 

And *out* of it again, because there's a lovely window -- perfectly clean, of course -- and the trees outside of it have been pruned recently, and the sun is shining in so perfectly -- 

So warmly -- 

So *goldenly* --

And Tim is looking at him as if *he's* the beautiful one, and Clark is not going to get distracted for more than the length of a kiss -- 

A deep kiss, wet, loving -- 

He's missed him, he's feared, he's *longed* -- 

"Oh -- mm -- oh, Clark, I, do you --" 

"I *love* you," Clark says, and kisses Tim again, and again, and *again*, and holds him, forces himself to hold him even though Tim is so stiff, even though Tim's scent is frightened, confused, *worried* -- 

And it is an *eternity* of *pain* before Tim throws his arms around Clark's neck -- 

Before he moans and kisses Clark back -- 

Over and over and -- 

"I just didn't -- it seemed so implausible -- but I've been thinking about subjective time -- and you'll tell me if I ever -- if I'm not -- and I'll always try to be -- right --" 

And Clark groans and -- 

Doesn't snap Tim's ribs with a hug. 

He only makes a small squeaking noise, and he doesn't smell particularly uncomfortable, and -- 

And he can stop any *moment* -- 

"I just. I want. To be good for you," Tim whispers, soft and low and breathless, so sweet, so --

And Clark makes a truly embarrassing sound and -- 

"I think you're going to say something about me being... good for you... all the time?" 

"Ah... hem. Probably." 

Tim hums... and giggles. Breathlessly -- 

Clark lets him breathe -- 

Tim gasps -- 

And gasps -- 

And *clutches* him -- and giggles more. "Clark..." 

"I'm yours," Clark says, and feels himself flushing, and nuzzles the top of Tim's head, and -- wonders, briefly, if it will ever be a good time to mention that he probably would've begun plotting to kidnap Tim soon enough if his mother hadn't -- 

There probably won't be a good time for that. 

There -- he kisses Tim's slight cowlick, instead, and smells flowers, and *fake* flowers from his hair gel, and broken greenery, as if Tim had been rolling in grass -- 

And the images for that are -- 

Themselves -- 

"-- here?" 

Oh -- "You were almost certainly saying something before that last word, weren't you." 

Tim giggles again -- 

*Swats* him -- carefully -- 

Clark wants him in *gauntlets* -- 

And in nothing of the kind. "Yes, Tim?" 

"You -- did you get *lost* in sniffing my hair?" 

"It has many fascinating and diverting aromas at the moment --" 

"*Clark* --" 

"It's only -- the AI --" 

"Do you call it the AI at times like -- are you feeling more like Clark right -- why did you take me away?" 

Clark kisses the top of Tim's head a few times -- 

"Clark -- Kal?" 

"Clark," Clark says, and licks the part in Tim's hair -- 

"Ee --" 

"Please." 

"I. Um. All right. Clark --" 

"I'm feeling -- ah. Intoxicated on you. About you. Near you. With you. I love you," Clark says, and pulls Tim into -- 

Tim covers Clark's mouth with his small, hard hand. 

Clark blinks -- and kisses Tim's strong fingers.

Tim blushes -- and then gives him a *determined* look. "Answer my questions." 

Well. He can *do* that. He nods -- 

Tim moves his fingers -- 

"Bruce has no *idea* what he's doing." 

"Ah. Ah?" 

"You're entirely wonderful. I want you to --" 

"Please stay focused." 

"Hm? Oh, ah, yes," Clark says, and kisses Tim's chin *quickly* -- 

"Clark --" 

"Bruce has no idea what he's doing, by which I mean -- ah. He's as hideously jealous of your relationship with Jay as I am --" 

"Relation-- *Clark* --" 

"You make him very happy --" 

"He -- he's very --" 

"He doesn't -- you must understand, Tim --" 

"You're jealous?" And Tim's voice is quiet, but it's firm, and low, and *frightened* -- 

Oh -- 

And the only possible response is to stroke Tim, and to sit him on the sun-warmed and cushioned window seat -- 

And kiss him and -- 

"*Clark* --" 

"You -- you've learned that jealousy is poison. That it can *only* be poison. Yes?" 

And Tim's eyes are wide, and full, and deep, deep in all the wrong ways, powerful and *telling* -- 

And Clark nods and breathes deep and *focuses*. "Fine one, beautiful one, I..." Clark laughs softly and crouches in front of Tim, cups his lovely face, pets his cheeks -- 

So downy -- 

"Bruce and I took pleasure in our jealousy." 

Tim frowns -- in confusion, not disbelief. 

He has earned *trust*! And Clark smiles because it's right, because -- 

Because it's so *wonderful* -- 

"Bruce and I mocked each other, and laughed, and grew aroused, and laughed more --" 

"But --" 

"I will not say we didn't fear --" 

"*Yes* --" 

"Bruce has always wanted -- no." And Clark smiles wryly, and raises an eyebrow. 

"'No'? What... what is it?" 

"I *was* going to say that Bruce has always wanted a brother. That *is* true... but. It's far *more* true to say that Jay *is* his brother --" 

"I -- oh. But..."

"In his heart, Tim," Clark says, and presses his palm to Tim's chest, splaying it -- 

"Oh... your hands. Are very large." 

Clark hums. "Shall I tell you to focus?" 

Tim looks down -- at Clark's wrist. "Probably." 

"And if I wish to do nothing of the kind --" 

"You should do it anyway," Tim says, and looks up, searching Clark's eyes. "And. And perhaps... take me... home." 

And that... 

The rush for that, the flooding warmth that *takes* him, makes his heart pound and his mind *race* -- 

"Tim --" 

"You should --" Tim cuts himself off with a sharp breath and curls his fingers around Clark's wrist. "I don't want you to -- fight. With Bruce --" 

"*Tim* --" 

"And -- and Bruce and Jay should be together, always, and -- don't *kiss* me!" 

Clark grunts and -- does *nothing* to alter the wounded expression on his face. 

"Oh -- oh, Clark, no, I meant -- hm. Hm. Are you... being manipulative?" 

"Ah... only as much as you're being terribly intelligent?" 

"*Clark* --" 

"And *painfully* *noble* --" 

"You can't just --" 

Clark covers Tim's mouth -- 

Tim *glares* at him -- 

"Oh -- that's very attractive." 

Tim -- well, that's somewhat *incandescent*, and really -- 

"I promise to tell you... absolutely everything about my kinks --" 

Tim blinks and looks *beautifully* interested -- 

Clark doesn't let himself get distracted. Much. He licks his lips. "But first I'm going to tell you this: Bruce is already mostly -- *mostly* -- in love with you -- oh, please breathe --" 

Tim wheezes -- 

Clark pets him --

And pets him -- 

And doesn't grope him *very* much -- 

"Keep *talking*!" 

"I --" 

"And -- and finish a *thought*!" 

"Out of curiosity --" 

"*What*?" 

"Have you noticed how incredibly *diverting* you are, yet?" 

Tim blinks at him -- 

Stops coughing -- 

Gapes in a somewhat fish-like fashion -- 

"Well, do keep the thought in mind for later," Clark says, and leans in to kiss Tim's collarbone --

"Oh --" 

"For *now*, please think about the fact that Bruce is completely and utterly helpless to the people who make the people he loves happy -- I hope this phrase is starting to sound familiar -- oh, and you're so lovely when you frown that way." 

"I." 

"Yes?" 

"I'm beginning to wonder..." 

"Yes, Tim?" 

Tim raises an eyebrow at him. "When *aren't* I lovely?" 

"Well..." 

"Wait." 

Clark raises *both* of his eyebrows.

"When I lie to you, Clark?" 

"Yes." 

"When I... hide from you in other ways?" 

"Ah..." 

"When I -- perhaps when I do things like lie to people you *like*?" 

"Ah... hem." Clark licks his lips and brushes a bit of dust from Tim's shoulder -- 

Tim glares at him -- 

"I suppose it would be --" 

"I don't want to belong to -- to *Bruce*!" 

"Are you sure?" 

Tim *recoils*, and that -- 

No, no, no. Clark pulls Tim down from the window seat, pulls him into his lap -- 

"Clark --" 

"Shh, no, I -- that question --" 

"I don't -- *oof* --" 

"I'm very accustomed -- *most* accustomed -- to being... ah. The second choice. At best," Clark says, and deals with his own cowardice by -- 

Being even more cowardly and squeezing Tim firmly enough, *tightly* enough, that he *can't* respond to that statement. But. 

He can at least say more. He can be -- honest. *Clear*. "I love you. I love you. I *love* you -- please don't fight me in this moment."

Tim stills immediately -- 

And Clark hardens just as fast -- more so. He sighs against Tim's small, blushing ear. "I love you, and I want everything for you, everything that makes you happy -- please don't *fight*." 

Tim makes a *small* sound -- but stills. 

"Thank you. Thank you," Clark says, and kisses Tim's ear. "I would give you *everything*, *anything* that *pleased* you, and that alone would be enough to make me refuse your offer -- so tempting, so *hungry*-making -- to take you away from here -- don't *speak*." 

Tim stiffens and *shivers* -- and obeys. 

"You want Jay. You've loved him..." *Clark* shivers. "I've *watched* you love him, fine one, and it is *beautiful*. And yes, everything *about* you is beautiful to me, and so how can I deny you happiness? How can I deny *myself* your happiness? Even were I to somehow *stop* loving Jay *myself*... no. No, beloved one, it cannot happen." 

Another shiver -- 

The smallest *panting* sound -- 

And Tim presses his body just that slightest bit closer to Clark's own. 

Clark groans and squeezes, holds, *forces* the air out of Tim's body -- 

And holds him just that way until he begins to shake -- 

Just until then.

Just until then. 

And then he lets Tim breathe and -- 

And bites Tim's earlobe carefully, firmly -- 

Tim *moans* out his new air -- 

And gasps -- 

And moans *again* -- 

"I ache for you, Tim --" 

"I -- I -- I'm *yours*!" 

Clark *grunts* -- into Tim's mouth, and yes, this kiss is necessary, and so is every other, every one, every one which lets Clark *show* Tim how he feels, how he hungers, how he *needs* -- 

And which lets Tim show him -- just the same. 

Clark *bites* Tim's lip -- 

"Oh, yes!" 

And then, for a moment, they are only staring at each other -- *into* each other in the warm afternoon light, in the softness and wealth of this home Clark wants for Tim, honestly *wants* -- 

He can't let that thought get *lost* -- 

"Tim..." 

"Clark? What is it? What's wrong?" And Tim's hands are on his face, warm and damp with sweat, shaking with -- so very many things. 

*Good* things -- 

Things they can both *have* -- 

And that... perhaps it can be simple. Perhaps it can be... "Tim, I..." Clark licks his lips and smiles. "I believe I'm always going to be distracted around you." 

Tim giggles and shakes his head, blushes, pulls back -- 

"No," Clark says, low and even and, perhaps -- perhaps a bit too -- 

But Tim parts his lips for him -- 

And widens his beautiful eyes -- 

And comes close again. "Like... this?" 

Clark lets the breath he takes be a shaky one as he nods. "Yes. Always." 

"I... should never... move away?" 

Clark licks his lips. And doesn't blink. "Never." 

Tim raises an eyebrow, so elegant, so -- "Except to move *in* with Bruce Wayne?" 

Oh... and he's playing with him. But *which* game? Clark touches his tongue to his upper lip. "Oh, yes, fine one. You must do that." 

Parted lips once more -- and then pursed. "I thought I belonged to you," he says, flirtatious and bold -- or he would be, if he wasn't looking away. 

Clark will -- he *will*. He cups Tim's chin, lifts it and forces Tim to meet his eyes. "You do." 

And Tim's heart is beating -- so fast. 

"You do belong to me." 

"And... I have to do what you say." A question only in Tim's scent -- there is *nothing* of questioning in his tone. Still... 

Still, Clark must be a little gentle, he thinks. "You must always do what I say, fine one. It's the only way," Clark says, and smiles. 

Tim licks *his* lips. "The... only way?"

"The only way I can *assure* myself of your happiness." 

*Parted* lips -- "And that's... very important." 

"Paramount." 

Tim winces -- and his scent is full of confusion, lust, need, fear, worry -- 

"You belong to me," Clark says, firm and low and soft, soft. 

Soft enough that Tim must *reach* for his voice -- 

Come *closer* --

Straddle Clark's *lap* -- 

"Yes, like that." 

"Oh --" 

"You belong to me." 

"You." And Tim swallows and flushes, dark and sweet and human-hot. The scent of his sweat makes Clark's penis flex and harden still more -- 

*Leak* -- "Tell me, Tim." 

And Tim looks down -- and immediately looks up again, shares, gives --

Looks up at Clark through his long, thin lashes. 

"I'm... afraid of Kal-El." 

"Don't be afraid of me. Don't ever..." Clark breathes -- and growls, once. Very, very low. 

Tim moans for him -- 

"Don't ever be afraid of me, Tim." 

Tim lowers his *head* -- "Yes, Clark." 

And this time, the growl is not -- 

Not at all *controlled* -- 

Clark grips Tim's *hips* -- 

And Tim's moan is long and loud and -- 

And Clark knows that Bruce is *lurking* in Dick's warped doorway -- 

That he's *waiting* for Clark to make this better for *him*, as well, to be *convincing* with Tim -- 

But Tim is his, and -- there are things which must happen first. "You will live here," Clark says, cupping Tim's face with both hands. 

"Anywhere -- anywhere you. Want me." 

Clark sighs and strokes Tim's cheekbones. 

"I..." Tim frowns and starts to shake his head -- 

"Shh."

Tim squeezes his eyes shut -- 

"Open." 

Tim gasps -- and obeys. 

And Clark smiles. "Good boy. All is well, I promise." 

"I just. I want -- this isn't..." And Tim starts to *turn* his head... toward Bruce. 

And Clark is not a fool. "You're worried about being a burden." 

Tim winces -- nearly flinches -- 

"You must relax now, fine one." 

And that... is another gasp. 

And a nod -- 

And compliance, calm and sweet, as Tim rests his palms on Clark's chest through Clark Kent's cheap button-down shirt -- 

As Tim strokes so lightly, so *warmly* -- 

"Yes, Clark." 

"I will never let you go," Clark says, and he hadn't meant to -- 

Not so soon -- 

Not so *baldly* -- 

But Tim only looks up to meet his gaze, searching and open and *hopeful* -- 

"Never," Clark says, and leans in to kiss Tim's left cheek -- 

And Tim lifts his right cheek, *offers* it -- 

"*Never*," Clark says again -- 

"Please. Please don't let me be a burden to -- to *anyone*." 

And subjective time is tyranny -- 

Magic -- 

*Gift*. 

Subjective time is the freedom to turn Tim's terrible statement over and over in his mind to look for a way around it, through it -- 

Subjective time is what it is, and still only finite, and when it *ends* -- as it must -- Clark says: "When there is no one else, fine one, there will be me."

Tim *whimpers* -- 

"I will never, ever let you go." 

"But --" 

"Beloved one," Clark says, and uses his speed and strength to pull Tim closer, to *hold* him there before he can breathe, blink, speak -- and then he waits -- 

For the gasp. "Clark --" 

"You will tire long and long before I will."

And Tim pants -- 

And shivers -- 

And reddens, heats, *thunders*, pulse *thrumming* beneath skin so thin, so fragile -- 

Clark has left no *bruises* -- 

Yet. 

And Clark can't hold back a growl -- 

"*Please*!" 

"What do you wish, beloved one?" 

"Please, I -- I'm so..." 

"Do you ache?" 

And Tim whimpers for him, squirms as much Clark is *allowing* -- 

Squirms to get *closer*, to rub his strong, lean body -- 

So small -- 

So *small* -- 

And Clark is growling again, but he's also taking Tim to *his* room -- so easy to be certain which one Alfred had chosen -- 

The scent of fresh air -- 

New furniture polish -- 

Fresh *linens* -- 

And Clark pushes Tim's head back just *so* -- 

And bites Tim's *throat* -- 

And the scream that comes is perfect, loud, maddening -- but not so maddening that Clark is distracted from stripping Tim bare on his large new bed, that he's focused on *anything* but his beautiful body, marked *here*, above his right nipple -- 

"Clark --" 

And *here*, *around* his left nipple -- 

And Tim *warbles*, kicks -- 

It's a perfect excuse to spread his legs, to bite his inner thighs more *gently* than Bruce will -- 

Tim still cries out -- 

Spreads them *wider* -- 

"Clark --" 

"I love you so *much*!" 

And Tim gasps again, and cups Clark's face -- 

His eyes are so *wide*, so -- 

And there is a part of Clark which only *wishes* to catalog the shock in Tim's eyes, the way that Tim's heart is pounding in part because he's stunned, in shock, *lost* in this new place, with new people, in a new and strange situation -- 

He's watched a boy he loves be swallowed by a goddess posing as an undead *dryad* -- 

*Bruce* has begun the process of *bracing* him -- 

And, of course, there is that -- that *Superman* creature -- 

Who isn't here. 

Not -- here. 

Clark licks his lips -- and licks Tim's scrotum -- 

Tim squeaks and drums his heels on the coverlet -- 

Clark licks Tim's scrotum wet and messy, licks and sucks and *slurps* -- 

Tim *gurgles* -- 

Clark breathes *hot* -- 

"Oh, I don't -- I don't..."

And there is a *part* of Clark which wants to help Tim speak, to clarify, to... 

There is a part of Clark which wants to listen to more than Tim's pleasure, his mounting need, his tangy-salt sweat, glistening all over his pale, strong -- 

So *strong* -- 

So.

"I *need* you," Clark says, and he wants it to be an explanation, an excuse, an apology -- 

Tim *whimpers* when Clark swallows his penis -- 

And screams. 

And screams -- 

And *howls*, and Clark is proud of himself for thinking of how much Jay will appreciate that, how much Jay will *love* -- 

Until he realizes that he hadn't noticed himself swallowing rhythmically, forcefully, *brutally* -- 

Oh. 

Oh, he's *hurting* -- 

Tim is *writhing*, writhing in *place* because he doesn't want Clark to hurt him more, doesn't -- 

Or... 

Clark swallows *harder* -- 

And Tim *chokes* on a howl and *bucks* -- 

And begins doing his best to *slam* into Clark's mouth, in and in, over and *over* -- 

Oh, and that's a *wail*, and Clark wants to soothe, wants to praise, wants to -- 

Clark wants everything and wants to *give* everything, but *mostly* he wants to make Tim scream and *weep* when he ejaculates, hurt *more* -- 

And he growls more -- 

"*Clark*!" 

And he slips his finger into his mouth and *out* again, fast, *fast* -- 

"Oh -- *oh* --" 

*In* -- 

"*OH*!" 

And Tim is so graceful, so *perfect* as he plants his feet, as he arches, as he offers his body, so open, so *ready*, even for this -- 

"Deep -- you -- " And he whimpers again -- 

Again -- 

"Clark, it *hurts*!" 

And Clark can't help but groan for that -- 

"No -- no, please don't *stop*!" 

And then he's clutching Tim's hip with his free hand, *fucking* Tim's tight, tight rectum with his finger -- 

And sucking -- 

And swallowing -- 

"Oh, *God*!" 

Yes -- 

"Clark -- oh, Clark -- *Clark* -- you -- *please*, I --" 

And when Clark *crooks* his finger -- 

When Tim screams so beautifully, so loudly, so *hoarsely* -- 

Clark groans in his chest and swallows everything, takes, *takes*, and can't make himself pull back for even a moment to taste. No. He must have this, all of *this*, every *nanosecond* of Tim's desperation and pleasure and -- 

And *extremis* -- 

It's his. 

It's *his*, and more so when Tim begins to *claw* at Clark's scalp even as his small and lovely penis *spasms* -- 

Jerks and *spills* -- 

Clark groans *more* -- 

Tim locks his *thighs* around Clark's head and yes, *yes*, all of this, every moment -- 

Until the quality of the trembling changes -- 

Until the convulsiveness of Tim's grip *slackens* -- 

One moment --

Another -- 

*Another*, and Clark flips Tim over onto his stomach -- 

Tim moans so *happily* -- 

Nearly -- nearly *croons* -- 

"Clark..." 

"Fine one -- my fine one --" 

"I --" And then Tim turns his cheek against the coverlet and smiles, bright and wide and *satisfied* as he spreads his legs -- wide. 

Clark *pants* --

Tim *wriggles* against the coverlet -- 

"Tim..." 

"I -- oh." And then Tim laughs, obviously at himself, blushing sweetly and *starting* to close his legs -- "I'm afraid I've made assumptions --" 

"No, I --" 

"We don't --" 

And Clark is groaning again, helpless and -- *helpless*, but it has to be all right, has to be -- 

"Oh, *Clark*!" 

"I've *wanted* this!" And Clark knows that was *incomprehensible*, that was -- 

Well, it was *slurred* into Tim's *anus* -- 

There's only so *much* -- 

Tim is groaning and tensing and -- oh. Gurgling again. 

Well. 

"I want to teach you everything about me," Clark says, slowly and not at *all* clearly -- 

"What -- what? I can't --" 

"Don't worry about understanding me," Clark says, pulling back just enough to *be* understood and *smiling* at Tim -- 

"But I -- *please*!" 

"I'll repeat myself -- oh. Indefinitely." And Clark spreads Tim *wide* -- 

"*Hnh* --" 

"Some have said," Clark says, and licks -- 

"Please --" 

And licks -- 

"Oh –" 

And pushes *deep* with his tongue -- 

"Oh, Clark, Clark --" 

And pulls out -- 

"*No*!" 

Clark licks his lips. "Some have said I talk too much..." 

Tim whimpers and *shakes* -- 

*Claws* at the coverlet -- 

"I shouldn't -- you -- I want --" 

Clark bites Tim's buttocks lightly -- 

"Nnh --" 

"I want everything about you." 

"But --" 

"Everything," Clark says, and *licks* his way in -- 

"Please, I can't --" 

And in -- 

"I *can't* --" 

And out. "You need do nothing but allow me to pleasure you," Clark says, low and -- firm.

Tim *grunts* -- 

Tenses -- 

*Shakes* -- 

And Clark tightens his grip on Tim's slim hips and buttocks. Holds him.

*Holds* him. 

"Tim." 

"Oh..." And Tim relaxes so -- "Yes, Clark."

Clark closes his eyes and shivers, shudders -- 

Flushes and *aches* -- 

Fights back so -- 

So very *many* things Bruce would *mock* him for saying, laugh at him -- 

He's such a *creepy* man, and he knows it, he's always known it, and Bruce is, too, and it's one of the things he'd *welcomed* about Bruce, *craved* -- finally there was someone who -- *perhaps* -- wouldn't run screaming if they didn't *just* know the full extent of his powers, but also knew... 

And now he's using subjective time to breathe Tim in, to take him in every way -- 

To *absorb* him in every way he can, every way his ludicrously *sturdy* body will *allow* -- 

Because Tim will allow everything... won't he? 

And that's a voice he shouldn't listen to. 

It's the quiet, hungry, *insinuating* voice. The needy one, the *grasping* -- 

And it's not a surprise that he sounds like Bruce when he talks about -- it.

*Himself*. 

*Himself*, and no one else, and Tim has begun trying to spread his legs wider, trying to -- 

To grip at the pillows -- differently. 

He's spreading his *fingers*, and now Clark wants to spread them with his *own* fingers, cover Tim, enter, push deep -- 

He groans -- 

Tim *gasps* -- 

"Shh," Clark says, and he doesn't mean that in the slightest, but --

"Yes, Clark, I'm sorry --" 

"No -- no, not that."

And Tim blinks, and tries to turn, to see him more fully --

"No... stay right there," Clark says, and pitches his voice reassuringly -- he hopes -- 

"Yes, Clark. But --" 

"You must stay in that position." 

And Tim flushes for him again, so -- 

"You're so very beautiful," Clark says, and it's far more blurted than calm, but -- 

"Like -- in this position?" 

In *every* -- but. Clark licks his lips -- 

And leans in to *bite* the flexing tendon along the side of Tim's throat -- 

Hard -- 

Tim whimpers and *bucks* -- 

And Clark pulls back. "You're hardening for me again." 

"Yes, Clark." 

Clark sighs. "Good. I... I always need that," he says, and laughs softly, and kisses Tim's exposed cheek ten -- seventeen times -- 

Tim *giggles* -- 

"And that, too..." 

"You... you don't mind your... ah..." 

"Perversions?" 

"I wasn't going to --" 

Clark bites him again. His throat -- 

Tim groans -- 

Clark bites his nape -- 

Tim gasps -- 

Clark bites his way down and down and *down* his spine -- 

"Oh, please please --" 

"Bruce makes love to Jay this way..." 

"*Hnh* -- I mean -- I know!" 

Clark blinks -- 

Considers -- 

And remembers the camera in his love's lovely hands, his parted lips as he stared through the viewfinder -- 

At Jay. 

*And* Bruce. Who is -- 

Clark checks -- 

Sharing more magically-scrambled secrets with Jason Blood, deep within what Clark's *confused* senses are insisting is an oddly-placed offshoot of the *woods* -- i.e., Dick's bedroom. 

The question becomes whether Jason's timing on this matter is to distract Bruce from what Clark is doing right now, or from the fact that the All-Mother has yet to return *Jay* -- 

And that *is* a queasy thought -- 

But, even though Clark hasn't the faintest clue what Jason is talking about, he can *hear* that *his* tone is calm -- and still amused, even -- 

And *Bruce's* tone is only *moderately* savage -- 

Well. 

Clark will make this up to him in as many different ways as he can think of, and...

He's reasonably positive that Tim will at least *wish* to be of assistance. 

And the images for that -- 

The *desires* -- 

There is no surprise whatsoever that he's spreading Tim's buttocks again, that he's silencing himself so that he can better hear Tim's gasps and small whimpers, small *questioning* noises -- 

He wants more *conversation* -- 

He'll have it later, Clark promises, wordlessly, and slips in with his tongue -- 

Tim groans -- 

Clark slips in again, holding it hard, making it *wet* -- 

"Clark, please!" 

"No," he slurs, and *fucks* Tim with his tongue, peremptory and -- not fast. 

Not fast, at all. 

He wants every one of Tim's sounds. He wants his sweat and oil and hunger. He wants his clenches, powerful and *desperate*. 

He wants the knowledge, passing through *both* of them, that Tim is responding to *everything* Clark is doing.

Every thrust.

Every push.

Every *fuck* -- 

He wants Tim to feel himself so *helpless*, as helpless as *he* is, and so he *forces* Tim's hips against the coverlet --

Does it seem too soft?

Too smooth?

Too cool? 

He grinds Tim's hips, fast and sharp and -- 

Oh, hopefully sweet -- 

He grinds and he *fucks* his love, his beautiful boy, his fine one, bought fair and -- 

And -- 

And he's growling *into* him -- 

And Tim whines, stiffens and *jerks*, but Clark will not let him stop, will not *relent* -- 

Oh, and the first sob makes him pant, salivate, *bite* -- 

Tim wails and sobs again -- 

Clark growls and fucks him, takes him -- 

"Please! *Please*!" And the words are almost wailed, almost -- almost lengthened the way a child -- 

Clark groans and doesn't -- 

Can't -- 

And then the muscle relaxant lubricant from Bruce's drawer is in Clark's hand -- 

And Tim is over Clark's lap -- 

Naked and over Clark's lap, head down, pressed to the sheets, panting and confused, begging wordlessly, clenching -- 

"Shh, shh," but they're nonsense-sounds, meaningless, because Clark's fingers are slick, needy as the rest of him, *moving* -- 

*In* -- 

And Tim *sobs* again -- 

Screams and arches and *claws* at the bed -- "I'm sorry!" 

"Why?" And Clark's own voice is breathy, low, hungry -- but the curiosity is true, honest, *real* -- 

"I can't -- I can't *control* --" And that, too, is a *wail*.

"You need not." 

"But --" 

"You need control nothing," Clark says, low and calm as he can, *gentle*. And he waits -- 

And waits -- 

"Nothing." 

And Tim *slumps* -- 

"You're perfect," Clark says, and *twists* his two fingers *deep* -- 

For that *howl* -- 

"Oh, *yes*, Tim --" 

And Tim *clutches* Clark's thigh, screams, *arches* -- 

Oh, arches like a seal --

Like a mermaid breaching out of the waves -- 

Clark groans and twists again, again -- 

Tim tosses his head, sweat flying -- 

"I *love* you, Tim!" 

"Please!" 

"*Come* for me." 

And the sound Tim makes is half-broken, animal-rough, *loud* -- 

*Goading*, and that's the reason Clark gives himself for why he's gripping the back of Tim's neck with his other hand, why he's *holding* Tim in his arch -- 

His beautiful *arch* -- 

He's crying out for every -- 

Oh, and he's fucking Tim harder, of course, he's fucking him, opening him with his fingers, taking his human heat and teaching him -- 

Showing him -- 

Tim is groaning and *salivating* -- 

"I'll take you just this way," Clark promises -- 

Tim *chokes* -- 

"No, *breathe*." 

And Tim obeys, nods, breathes deeply even as his penis flexes and twitches and spatters his belly, the bed, Clark's *thigh* -- 

He can't -- 

So *beautiful* -- 

"*Come*." 

"Clark --" 

"Do it *now*." 

And Tim's eyes fly open wide, soft, *vulnerable* -- 

He looks almost *hurt* -- 

Clark should be more *gentle* -- 

But he *can't* be, not right now, not when every thrust makes Tim try to dig in with his short nails --

Every twist -- 

Every -- 

Every growl -- 

And Tim's scent changes, deepens, *sweetens* -- 

Clark pulls Tim back, pulls Tim *to* him, forces Tim to *sit* on his fingers and -- oh, yes, *swallows* his scream as he slumps and spasms and ejaculates.

For him.

For him.

And oh, how he shakes, how he *begs*, wordless and -- keening, not screaming. Clawing at the *air* -- 

Tim's body has not yet *discerned* how Clark has moved him -- 

Tim's body is -- 

Too slow.

Clark growls and *bites* -- 

And Tim's penis spurts high, semen arcing beautifully -- 

Clark pulls back and slams Tim *down* onto the bed, onto *his* back -- 

And he licks Tim clean -- 

And Tim whimpers -- 

And he sucks the *base* of Tim's penis -- 

And Tim whimpers over and over and *over* -- 

And he bites Tim's nipples and spreads Tim's legs wide and he -- 

And he slicks his penis and surrenders, *surrenders*, because Tim is almost rolling in his pleasure, his *drowning* pleasure, and Clark must -- 

*Must* -- 

And it's so perfect to slip deep -- 

And Tim howls for him *again* --! 

Beats -- beats at the bed with his small fists, so -- 

And Clark is panting for it, waiting, needing, *needing* -- 

He can wait, he can be -- 

Surely he can be -- 

"Tim," he says, and there is no patience in his voice, and little in the way of gentleness, and -- 

And Tim is right there for him, eyes open and focused, lips parted, so *present*, so *ready* -- 

"Tim..." And Clark must touch, must stroke his face with shaking fingers, slick with sweat and lubricant -- 

Tim takes a shaky breath and sobs -- 

Clark thrusts *helplessly* -- 

Tim *gasps* -- 

And Clark is holding Tim's lean hips, canting them just so, cursing and blessing practice, the gifts this world has given him, the love, the -- 

"Clark..." And Tim's voice is nearly mournful, broken -- 

And he says Clark's name again -- 

*Again* -- 

And Clark realizes that he hasn't stopped moving, that he's thrusting constantly, moving, *moving* -- 

*Taking*, unblinking, his beautiful boy -- 

Sold and *bought* -- 

"I'll never let you *go*!" 

And Tim gasps again -- 

Whimpers and closes his eyes shakes his head -- 

Whimpers *more* -- 

"Open -- open your *eyes*!" 

"Nuh -- I --" 

"*Now*." 

And Tim obeys, shows him -- oh, shows Clark his *tears* -- 

And Clark can't help smiling, *beaming* his -- oh, his *aching* pleasure -- 

His *throbbing*, needing -- 

And this is less a smile than a snarl, a growl -- "You are... the most beautiful... most-fine, most-desired." _{You are the fire in my hearth, the --}_

But Tim *bucks*, *shrieks* -- 

"Oh. Oh, the monitor-servant taught you..." Clark growls again, thrills, *needs* -- "I will reward it well." 

"Clark --" 

"For now..." And Clark moves them slightly, adjusts -- 

"Ahn --" 

"Yes, oh --" 

"Oh, Clark, oh -- but --"

"Shh," Clark says, and doesn't close his eyes, can't *imagine* closing his eyes, but he does narrow them slightly, focusing his attention on Tim as much as possible, on the arch of him, the lift of him with his hips up just so -- 

His body canted so that his buttocks rest on Clark's thighs -- 

His body tilted -- 

His face so *flushed* -- 

And Clark's hands are shaking again, *vibrating* truly, so the only thing to do with them -- 

And Tim *screams* when Clark wraps one hand around his penis and the other around his scrotum, whips his head back and forth almost -- 

Almost in *denial* -- 

"I will not let you *go*," Clark says, and that was more of a *plea* than anything else -- 

"Please please *please*!" 

"But what do you *need*, fine one?" 

"I --" And Tim sobs so perfectly, so -- 

And it's so loud -- 

And there are tears in his grey-blue eyes -- 

And Clark is thrusting again, *fucking* again, and both of their mouths are open, and they're panting together, groaning -- "*Tell* me." 

"Clark!" 

"*Tell* me!" 

"I need you! I need you -- I don't -- I can't -- *please*!" 

"I won't stop," Clark says, and that was more of a threat than -- 

But Tim groans again, shudders and drums his -- 

Even his feet are *small*, and Clark wants them in the -- 

*Both* Dick and Jay call them pixie boots -- 

*Everyone* calls them pixie boots, usually with a great deal of affection -- and often some degree of confused and terrified lust -- 

Clark wants to take the boots *off* Tim's feet, wants *one* off and one *half* on, wants them to drum on his thighs, his chest, his back, his shoulders -- 

Like *this* -- 

And Tim screams as Clark lifts his legs -- 

Shifts the angle -- 

Bends his body, so small, so flexible -- 

And Clark changes his mind and wraps Tim's legs around his waist, instead, holds him there, pressed to his body so close as he sobs -- 

He wants to feel every sob -- 

He kisses the top of Tim's head -- 

He bounces Tim on his penis -- 

He snarls and *clutches* Tim when Tim bites his *nipple* --

When Tim *clenches* around him -- 

And Clark flexes inside Tim, so tight, so *hot*, so *human* -- 

"The beat of your heart is -- is --" But there are no words to follow that, nothing -- 

Nothing that's *enough* once Tim reaches up to claw at Clark's shoulders, once his tears start rolling down Clark's chest -- 

"I love you so much," Clark snarls, whispers, *begs* -- 

"I'm yours," Tim says, and it's all but a *croak* -- 

"Again." 

Tim *gasps* -- 

"*Again*!" 

"I'm yours!" 

And Clark grunts and cups Tim's nape again, grips it as he grips Tim's small, perfect bottom -- 

And takes. 

And takes -- 

For every wail -- 

"*Again*, Tim!" 

"I'm *yours*!" 

And Clark pulls back enough to see it on his face, his beautiful face, strained and lovely and *wet* with tears, sweat, a few tiny droplets of blood from his bitten lip -- 

Clark lifts him and tastes the blood, savors, bites harder -- 

Harder -- 

"Yes, *please*!" 

*Sucks* -- 

And then lifts Tim off completely and pushes him down onto his belly -- 

Gently, gently -- 

And thrusts in -- 

Oh -- 

Oh, deep, yes, *deep* -- 

And Tim has no air this way, no -- 

He can barely *gasp*, barely -- 

He can't even *struggle* -- 

His hands -- 

His hands are flexing and shaking and -- 

And Clark's senses are exploding, as riotous as the plant-life in Dick's bedroom, as hungry for more -- 

Sweat and semen and salt, blood and pre-ejaculate and tears -- 

His, all *his*, and he will not let *go*. 

He is no fool. Tim can't *possibly* understand what that truly means -- he has no *context* for love at all, much less for the love of the *faithful* -- 

The persistent -- 

The obsessive and possessive and -- and outright *criminal* -- 

But he will learn.

Just as Clark -- 

Will -- 

*Take*. 

And Clark gives himself over to every choked gasp, strangled and lost -- 

Every -- 

Oh, yes, and he *clutches* his love, his strong hands, and he *flexes* within -- 

Tim is so raw, so -- 

He'll have to *heal* Tim -- 

But Tim is happy in this moment, and his many scents -- 

His *flavors* say that he's stoned on his own arousal, hunger, lust -- 

*Exhaustion* -- 

"*Mine*," Clark growls -- 

And Tim cries out, *wheezes* out the last of his air as he shakes and shakes and -- 

And the scent of deepening, sweetening is a shock, something to make him flex once more, tighten his grip *dangerously* -- 

And this time Tim can't even scream as he ejaculates, comes for him, comes *hard* and *mostly* dry, shaking *harder* until Clark *forcibly* stills him with his own body -- 

Presses him *down* -- 

At which point Tim *clenches* hard --

And Clark bites Tim's hair and stills *himself*, filling every one of his senses with his boy, his beautiful fine boy -- 

And filling his boy as he ejaculates -- 

And ejaculates -- 

And continues to ejaculate, even as Tim's scent grows less dazed and more *confused* --

And perhaps somewhat worried. 

Clark gasps a laugh and forces himself to *stop* ejaculating, even though the more he does it, the less he tends to... well, *need* to do the sorts of things that tend to *lead* to ejaculation. 

*Tim* will need to rest, but... 

But perhaps Clark can talk Bruce into being... hm. 

Well. 

Clark breathes, and breathes in his love, and looks at him, and -- 

And looks at him, because his eyes are open once more, and what Clark can *see* of Tim's gaze is wide and wondering and almost *fierce* with pleasure and *pride*. 

And Clark is still not a fool. He smiles. "That was wonderful, Tim."

Tim bites his lip -- 

Winces -- 

And smiles with *much* less shyness than he would have *once* done. "I pleased you." 

Clark licks his lips -- and lets his penis flex *precisely* as much as it wants to -- 

"*Unh* --"

"Oh, yes." 

"Oh. Oh. Oh, Clark --" 

"You pleased me very, very much," Clark says, and *grinds* -- 

Tim cries out -- and drums his feet again. 

This -- 

Well, Clark suspects that the smile on his face in this moment is no less savage than one of Bruce's. 

It makes Tim moan more. 

It makes Tim *sweat* -- 

And so Clark leans in to lick Tim's temple, and cheek, and ear -- 

"Clark --" 

"I'm afraid I can't allow you to protest this -- yet --" 

Tim giggles beautifully -- 

Clenches -- 

*Squeaks* -- 

Clark hums and sucks Tim's earlobe -- 

"Please -- please, Clark --" 

"What would you like?" 

But this question seems to *stymie* Tim, it -- 

Clark bites back *every* urge to ask him if no one had ever asked him such a question before -- 

He knows the *answer* -- 

And he will not be a *fool*. "Tell me." 

Tim makes a sound lost somewhere between a sigh and a shiver and a croon. "I don't know... I'm --" 

"Shh, it's all right," Clark says and *nips* Tim's earlobe. 

"But --" 

"It's all right." 

"Um." 

Tim doesn't make that sound especially often. Or... 

No, Clark has heard him make it twice before -- both times for the monitor-servant, when it has offered deeply problematic suggestions about how Tim might best improve his performance as Kal-El's property -- 

Hm. Clark softens himself at *gentle* speed -- 

"Glrk --" 

Clark strokes Tim soothingly, gently -- no, he hums at *that* frequency, and Tim goes loose for him, open, slack -- 

So temptingly *pliant* that Clark nearly hardens again *instantly* -- 

"I ache for you in every *instant*." 

Tim gurgles helplessly and salivates -- which, truly, is all he *can* do while Clark hums and speaks at the same time -- 

It's possible he shouldn't use his powers this *unfairly* -- 

Many things are possible, Bruce says in his mind. Far, far fewer are probable. 

"I'm going to heal you, precious boy," Clark says, and *forces* himself to finish pulling out. 

"Nuhhh..." 

"I'm going -- mm." Clark *stops* humming and turns Tim onto his back -- 

Tim *chokes* slightly on his saliva -- 

Clark licks him clean at speed -- 

"Oh, God --" 

And injects Tim with the nanites. 

"You -- what -- *hngh* --" 

"Shh, shh, it's --" 

"It doesn't -- it doesn't hurt. Anymore. What --" 

"Nanoscopic artificial organisms --" 

"*Oh* -- oh, I -- that's so interesting! What --" 

Clark kisses Tim all over his face -- 

"I -- you --" 

And his chest -- 

And Tim giggles again -- 

Clark *sucks* Tim's navel -- 

"Clark!" 

"Hmmm...?" 

"Mm -- *mmph*, you -- are -- is this -- are they healing me?" And Tim's expression is thrilled, interested, excited, *aroused* --

For the *nanites* -- 

Clark... doesn't take him back to the Fortress *immediately*. 

He doesn't. 

He -- 

"You know," *Bruce* says, from the *doorway* -- 

"*Oh*!" 

"There's quite an extensive laboratory in the Cave." 

Clark sighs. 

Tim *vibrates* -- 

Clark sighs *more* -- 

And Bruce hums. "I believe I owe you both an apology --" 

"Yes, you *do* --" 

"Though, to be fair, Clark walks in on my lovemaking with Jay and Dick --" 

"I do *not* --" 

"-- incredibly often --" 

"It's really far more -- more of a *lurk* --" 

"-- he's quite pushy about it --" 

"-- I'd like to think of it as *friendship*, which is something Bruce knows *nothing* about --" 

Bruce hums again and *arranges* himself in the doorway. He's still wearing only shorts and singed socks and sneakers, and he's still perfect, and -- 

And Clark is far too sexually satisfied to *actually* be annoyed, and so he simply arranges himself against the subtly-carved headboard with his love in his arms -- 

So *small* -- 

So inclined toward *squeaking* at times like this -- 

And trying to hide his nakedness in Clark's arms. Well. Clark can help with that -- 

"*Yeegh* --" 

Bruce narrows his eyes *thoughtfully*. "Will you always make that sound when Clark cups your genitals?" 

Tim stares at Bruce. 

Bruce raises an eyebrow. 

Tim narrows his beautiful eyes... beautifully -- 

And Clark kisses his temple. "The meaner you are to him --" 

"Oh -- oh, I don't want to be --" 

"He really does enjoy it," Clark says, and kisses Tim's temple again. 

Tim blinks, rapidly and, yes, *thoughtfully*. 

Bruce tilts his head back just *so* and looks at Tim from under his lashes and -- 

Really. 

"How much posing do you plan to *do* today?" 

"All the market will bear, of course," Bruce says, and *flashes* his teeth -- 

And Tim *coughs* -- 

"My question, Tim?" 

"I -- refuse to answer," Tim says, *cautiously*. 

And Bruce hums again. "I suppose I'll have to earn your... favor." 

Tim's penis twitches under Clark's hand, which is both impressive and one of the many reasons why Clark truly loves... young people. 

Though, really, Bruce has no right *whatsoever* to be looking at Clark's hand so *knowingly* -- 

Clark hadn't even *moved* -- 

Or *blinked* -- 

Tim is *blushing* -- 

Clark clears his throat. 

"Yes, my companion...?" 

And Tim inhales sharply -- *just* as if the monitor-servant had explained *that*, as well. 

The part of him which is now and will always *be* Kal-El truly *wishes* to reward the monitor-servant well for this -- and everything else it's done to *prepare* Tim for him -- but at this point it's earned nothing short of Tim in proper slave's entire and Kal himself teaching him -- 

Showing him -- 

*Forcing* --

Well, now he has another erection -- 

And Tim is moaning --

And Bruce is showing his damnable sharp teeth. "Penny...?" 

Clark sighs and presses his lips to Tim's cheek for... a long moment. "I began fantasizing about rewarding the monitor-servant for how well it's been teaching Tim."

Bruce and Tim *both* raise their eyebrows, and of *course* he has a type -- 

Or a few -- 

Or... many. And it only takes a *moment* for Bruce to part his lips -- and then smile darkly, hungrily, and so very, very -- 

Clark growls *quietly* -- 

"Oh -- Clark?" 

"The monitor-servant would vastly... mm." Clark nibbles along the side of Tim's throat -- 

His cheek and ear -- 

He inhales the scents of Bruce's arousal -- 

Of Tim's -- 

Bruce crosses his arms over his bare *chest*, and once, *years* ago -- 

("When I do that around you, my companion --"

"Why are you *talking*?") 

And Bruce had laughed, breathy and quiet and sweet, so sweet into Clark's mouth as Clark tore off Bruce's uniform -- 

As he flew them into the sky -- 

As he kissed and suckled and *bit* -- 

("Shall I be silent...?"

"I will spank your *scrotum* --"

"I believe I'll have my larynx removed --" 

"I will *never* spank your scrotum --") 

And Bruce had laughed more, laughed and bit him *back*, kissed Clark and cupped Clark's face -- 

Looked into his eyes -- 

Searched him and looked so -- 

So *happy* for a moment -- 

("Oh, Bruce --" 

"Every time I cross my arms around you, my companion... I am struggling not to drag your body *close* to mine.") 

And then -- 

Well, then there had been rather too *much* free-fall for safety -- 

Comfort -- 

But Bruce hadn't stopped laughing, hadn't stopped *twisting* against him, forcing his beautiful, hard, scarred body against Clark's own -- 

("Kiss --")

Growling and clawing -- 

("*Again* --")

Fighting and *groaning* -- 

("Yes -- oh --") 

And so it's not a surprise that he's *massaging* Tim's genitals even as Tim does his best to turn his face, his blushing *face*, against his chest -- 

Bruce is still *watching* -- 

Tim will need *rest* soon -- 

But not yet. 

"Tim..." 

"Clark. I. I --" 

"Don't be afraid," Clark says, low and firm, gentle. *Gentle* --

Tim shivers -- 

Blinks -- 

"Clark...?" 

"It's only me." And Clark kisses the shell of Tim's ear, breathes warm there. "Don't be afraid of me," he says, slightly more firmly -- 

Bruce *sighs* -- 

And so does Tim -- as he presses close. "You. I like it. When you... order me." 

Clark smiles, and lets Tim feel it against his soft, downy cheek. "So does the monitor-servant. It is... the essence of the reward I was imagining." 

Rapid blinks -- 

Tim licks his lips -- and keeps his face tucked against Clark, against Clark's throat. 

"Please. Please tell me." 

"Guess." 

Tim moans -- 

Bruce *shifts* -- slightly. And *flexes* his arms -- 

"Yes, Clark," Tim says -- 

And Clark breathes through his mouth -- 

*Tastes* Tim on the air -- 

"Do it now, fine one." 

"You. The monitor-servant... prefers your... dominance." 

"Yes." 

"You are..." Tim licks his lips again. "You're *only* Kal-El to it." 

"Good, yes." 

Tim nods, dragging his cheek against Clark's skin -- 

Does he wish Clark were more hirsute? 

Hirsute, at all...? 

He will ask another time. "More, Tim." 

"Yes, Clark. Kal-El is -- must be -- the superior being... on this planet. And... every other?" 

Clark -- and Kal -- 

And *Bruce* -- 

Smile. "Oh, yes, fine one. More." 

"I... we are... all humans -- all other species are... below Kryptonians. Below... Kal-El." 

"Yes." 

"And yet..."

"Faster, beloved one. Most fine," Clark says, and *squeezes* Tim's genitals, his penis and scrotum -- 

Tim whimpers for him -- 

Arches and *shakes* -- 

"Please --" 

"Shh. You know what you must do." 

"Oh. Oh, Clark..." And Tim flushes all over, flushes dark and sweet and -- 

And Bruce takes a step into the room. 

Clark meets his eyes for a long moment, and -- 

And Bruce is Bruce, and so his gaze is both infuriatingly unreadable and perfectly clear. Clark knows *precisely* how much he'd like to be the one touching Tim, and holding Tim, and *interrogating* Tim -- 

Finding all of his *knowledge* -- 

He just also hasn't the *foggiest* clue what Bruce is going to do to get closer to *getting* what he wants -- 

And if Tim keeps shaking and kissing Clark's *throat* like this -- 

He'll know nothing, at all. 

Clark brings his other hand to Tim's groin and -- works him. *Takes* him, teaching himself the touches which most *drive* his love -- 

"Please, Clark, *please*!" 

There. A *firm* squeeze for his scrotum and a *twisting* stroke for his penis. Clark keeps it up, touches Tim, *has* him -- 

And stares into Bruce's eyes as he does it. 

*Dares* Bruce -- 

Who *bares* his teeth again, just as savagely -- well. 

He always *has* responded to dares with just as little maturity as *Clark* has -- 

"You are... an exceedingly beautiful young man, Tim." 

Tim *gasps* -- and *starts* to turn toward Bruce -- 

"Look at him," Clark says. 

"Clark --" 

"Do it." 

Tim moans -- and obeys, shivering even as his small, dark nipples stiffen more, *harden* -- 

"Good boy," Clark says, and *maneuvers* Tim until -- 

Oh, until his penis is *nestled* in his still-slick *cleft* -- 

Tim cries out -- 

And Bruce licks his teeth. "Do you like that, Tim?" 

"I -- I -- I don't..." Tim shakes his *head* -- 

And Bruce raises an eyebrow -- 

And Tim blushes, *tenses* -- 

And for a moment Clark has to wonder whether he *truly* knows what is *needed*... as opposed to what is *desired*. But. "You will not lie, fine one." 

The sound Tim makes is almost *croaked* -- "I'm sorry!" 

"Are you...?" 

"Yes -- yes, I -- I know. You don't want me to be. Shy," Tim says, and hangs his head. His... 

Oh. "Don't do that." 

Tim gasps and *shivers* -- 

"Lift your head, beloved one." 

"Please..." 

And perhaps it's too much to ache for *this*, for the *fact* of being too much, for the knowledge of strain in Tim's scent even as his arousal grows, the pound of his heart, the rush of his blood, the *tang* of sweat that has a great *deal* to do with *stress* -- 

But. 

Clark still can't stop himself from going back to a steady massage of Tim's scrotum, from stroking up and up Tim's lean chest with his other hand, neglecting Tim's clearly *aching* penis -- 

Stroking *up* -- 

Cupping his *throat* -- 

"Please what, fine one?" 

And Tim makes another croaking noise -- 

Tim's penis twitches so... so very *hard* -- 

Tim sweats more *copiously* -- 

And Bruce's arms *flex* with the need to reach, to touch, to *grip* -- 

"Tell me." 

"I. Please, I --" 

"No." 

Tim *grunts*, and his eyes are wide, dazed for a long moment -- 

Clark squeezes his scrotum *firmly* -- 

"*Clark*!" 

"You will answer me now, Tim." 

"I love -- I am -- I'm yours!" 

Clark *growls* -- "Yes. You are. More." 

"You -- you -- I always want you to touch me --" 

"You will have it. More." 

"Oh, God --" 

"More." 

"*Please* --" 

"Do not disobey me, fine one," Clark says, and tightens his grip on Tim's scrotum just -- so -- 

And Tim throws his head back and *shouts*, penis *spasming* -- 

"*Beautiful*," Bruce *growls* -- 

"Kal-El -- Kal-El is everything," Tim *yells* -- 

And *both* he and Bruce blink, but... Clark licks his lips. "More." 

"Kal-El is. And I." And Tim whines, soft and breathless and -- 

And Clark is still *gripping* Tim's *scrotum* -- 

He doesn't let go. 

"*More*." 

"I belong to him! I belong to him and -- and I --" And Tim groans and *sweats* more, licks his lips and twists, *writhes* -- 

"Be *still*." 

"Yes, Clark, I'm sorry, I --" 

"*More*." 

"I have to obey, and -- and be correct! I was. Purchased. I was. I am. The property. I was so." Tim hangs his *head* -- 

Bruce steps *closer* -- 

"*Up*, Tim." 

"*Yes*, Clark! I have to behave! I have to follow orders! Every order! I belong to Kal-El, even when he's Clark, and I am. It will. Reward. I must be good!" And he's whining under his breath, panting, *shuddering* -- 

And his chin is up -- 

And his body is flushed -- 

And his penis is hard and twitching, over and over and -- 

Mm. "You're the reward. Aren't you, Tim." 

"My -- my good behavior!" 

Clark licks the sweat from behind Tim's ear -- 

Tim cries *out* -- 

"You're *my* reward. Aren't you." 

The sound Tim makes -- 

The look of *confusion* on his face -- 

And the beautiful, sweet, *hungry* way it fades. "Everything," Tim says. "Everything I am is yours." And he shivers and stares, facing forward, facing -- 

"Look at Bruce." 

"Yes, Clark." 

"He wants to touch you. Do you understand?" 

Another shiver. Another -- "I -- I don't." 

"Why not...?" 

Tim swallows. "He doesn't -- know me. Very well." 

Clark smiles, and presses it to Tim's nape. "On the contrary. He knows precisely how well you please me." 

Tim *grunts* -- 

"He knows how well you follow orders." 

"I -- I --" 

"Shh." 

Tim stiffens and lifts his hands -- and lowers them again, gripping his own lean thighs and nodding, waiting so *patiently* -- 

Bruce *stares* at Tim's hands -- 

Tim stares at *Bruce* -- 

And Clark makes love to Tim's nape slowly, wetly, *slowly* -- 

He sucks -- 

He sucks *hard* -- 

He pulls back enough to say: "This will be the first time I mark you." 

And Tim shudders. "Yes, Clark." 

And then Clark sucks hard again, nibbling and biting firmly, carefully -- 

*Taking* -- 

But only for long enough to leave a relatively *small* bruise. 

Tim moans and bites his soft, bruised lip. 

"One day, I'll mark you absolutely everywhere," Clark says, and all of them watch Tim's penis twitch and spatter the coverlet. 

"Yes. Yes, Clark." 

"Good boy. Bruce knows how much you need my... control." 

Tim whimpers and digs his short nails in against his thighs. "I -- am obvious --" 

"About this? Yes. And so very beautiful. So very tempting. Bruce knows precisely how aroused I am in this moment. Don't you, my companion." 

Bruce hums. "Every time I've submitted to Kal as you are submitting to Clark, Tim... he has *burned* for me." 

Tim stiffens and *squeaks* -- 

And Bruce hums. "I've surprised you...?" 

Tim looks down -- 

"No, fine one." 

Tim looks *up*. "I am. I don't know you... well." 

"I'd like to change that... quickly," Bruce says, and smiles with his eyes -- and perhaps, just a little, with the corners of his mouth. 

Tim's breathing was already rough and uneven. It gets... intriguingly worse. 

And Bruce's smile gets deeper. "We will not -- *cannot* -- allow you to feel shame for your submission, beautiful boy." 

Tim jerks -- "I -- you -- it's only --" 

"You've watched me extensively with Jay. And... Dick?" 

Tim shakes his head. "Never -- never with Dick --" 

"Silver...?" 

Tim shivers. "No. I -- I couldn't -- I didn't see --" 

"Hmm. Did you try...?" 

Tim *starts* to hang his head -- and lifts it again. "Yes. But. Not... often. I wasn't. I wasn't interested in... sex. Then." 

Bruce's smile is *wild* -- and he steps closer -- 

Closer -- 

But he *stops* before he gets to the bed. "Tim." 

Tim swallows. "Yes. Yes, Bruce?" 

Bruce's smile grows even *wilder* -- and then he flares his nostrils and shakes his head -- 

"Is there -- something --" 

"When I was a boy, I had very, very little interest in sexuality. In *romantic* pursuits in general." 

"Oh -- *yes*!" 

"Clark has been quite perverse since birth." 

"*Bruce* --" 

"*Clark* took the coming of his friends and loved ones adolescence with a great *deal* of *relief*." 

"Well -- *yes*, but --" 

Bruce licks his lips and *studies* Tim -- 

And Tim studies Bruce right back. 

"Tim... I *vastly* regret the time I *could've* spent studying sexuality while no one would... suspect my motivations --" 

"Oh -- oh, *yes*! That's it *exactly*. There were -- there were so many missed *opportunities*." 

Bruce hums with pleasure *and* satisfaction -- 

"Oh -- I didn't mean to interrupt --" 

"You anticipated my questions very, very well, Tim," Bruce says, and takes the last step closer -- the last step *possible* before he *must* climb onto the bed. And then he reaches to cup Tim's face. "Beautiful boy. I welcome your questions." 

"My. My... study." 

"Every question." 

Tim gasps -- 

And Clark can't keep himself from cupping his throat slightly -- *slightly* -- more firmly -- 

And Bruce shows his teeth. "Clark fears I'll seduce you away from him." 

Clark doesn't *growl* -- 

"No -- oh, *no*!" And Tim pushes his body *back* against Clark, tries to -- to *give* himself, to *turn* -- 

"Tim --" 

"I belong to you! Please --" 

"Tim, it's all right --" 

"*Please*! I belong to *you*!" And there's an *edge* to his voice, a sense of *panic* -- 

"Clark," Bruce says, and his tone is *implacable*, "is madly in love with you. He desires you as he desires no one else, Tim --" 

"I --" 

"One moment. Please," Bruce says, and his air of command is, as ever, *admirable*, but -- 

But Clark could still *resent* how well Tim *listens* --

How easily Tim *turns* to him -- even as he reaches back to *clutch* at Clark's sides, to pet and *stroke* -- 

And Bruce strokes down the bridge of Tim's faintly upturned nose. "You must understand this above all other things, beautiful boy. *Tim*: Clark has allowed none of his lovers *near* me before... and Clark has felt none of his lovers were *worth* me before. Clark has brought none of his lovers to me for *training* before... and Clark has never struggled so hard to *tear* a young hero in *need* of training *away* from me. Clark has made love to many and many and *many* over the years... and brought terribly few to his homes. And none to the homes he has made in the hearts of those of us he has named his allies. His loves. His *family*. Do you understand?" 

And Tim's scent... 

The *feel* of him, so tense and so -- 

Tim's scent of pride and excitement and joy -- 

*Thrilled* fear -- 

*Hope* -- 

Oh, Bruce, is this what I wanted from you? 

This recruitment? 

This manipulation? 

"You must answer me now, Tim," Bruce says, and he's pitched his *own* voice to gentleness, to *care* -- 

But he is Bruce Wayne, and he is making a young boy *dream*, and he can't -- 

He will always sound like Batman in moments like these. 

Tim shivers and sighs, and it catches on a high note in his throat. "He. Clark. He loves me. Just. Just like. He said." 

Bruce smiles, eyes and corners of his mouth, and inclines his head.

"He *loves* me. And. And I know." Tim shivers again -- 

Shudders *hard* and twists *away* from Bruce's grip -- but only so he can turn in Clark's arms, *wrap* himself around Clark -- 

"I know -- I know this isn't the way you want to hold me --" 

"Tim --" 

"I've always -- and you love me -- you *love* me -- and I've always wanted -- I don't *know*," and Tim *sobs*, clutches him, claws at him and makes a *horrified* noise before taking his hands *back* -- 

"No," Clark says, low and *firm*. "Tell me what you wish." 

And Tim looks up and searches him, eyes wide and wild and so sweet, so hungry, so *tensely* happy -- "Please. Please hold me? The way -- I mean. The way you." And he shakes again, so hard, so *hard*, but Clark can hold him just the way he held him the first several times -- 

Pressed close to maximize warmth -- 

Curled sideways on his lap to *minimize* *sexual* pressure -- 

"Oh oh oh --" 

"Like this, fine one?" 

"I just -- it's not that I don't like --" And then Tim *flings* his arms around Clark's neck and kisses Clark's chin and lower lip and cheek and upper lip and lower lip again -- "I'm yours, I won't leave, I'll do -- unless you want me to leave, and then I'll go wherever you want me to -- nnk --" 

And *then* Bruce is on the bed, which is a good thing, because frankly Clark is going to need help to stop clutching Tim this time. 

Eventually. 

Eventually. 

And Bruce *is* helpful. He tucks his head against Tim's ear -- 

He breathes there and makes Tim shiver against him -- 

Against them *both* -- "He'll never send you away. Ever." 

Tim... gurgles -- 

Clark lets him take a sip of air -- 

"If he ever tries to send you away," Bruce says, and nuzzles the *air* next to Tim's ear, "then you'll know that you're in grave danger. Either because of an outside threat, or because Clark is being controlled in some way. Nod if you understand." 

Clark gives Tim enough freedom to -- 

Tim nods. 

Bruce hums in approval and cups Tim's nape with one hand and the length of Tim's left thigh with the other. "Clark keeps his loves very, very close, Tim. He was lonely as a boy. Frightened. Hungry. *Aching* for companionship and the impossible -- or so he thought -- dream of having his questions answered: Why was I sent away? Why was I sent so far? Why am I so dangerously *different*?" 

Tim *clings* to him -- 

"Yes, hold him, beautiful boy. Show him... mm. Show him everything people like me have been too *small* to show him over the years. *Fill* him with your own hungers, and needs, and desires, and *aches*. For you have hurt over the years, have you not?" 

Tim nods so -- so *openly* -- 

"You'll give Clark all of that."

"But --" 

"You'll give it to him," Bruce says, and squeezes *tight* with both hands -- 

Tim gasps -- 

"You'll give it to him... and know that he'll treat it as the gift it is, beautiful boy. The gift of care, and the ability to care in turn." 

And Tim... moans, low and sweet and -- 

And he writhes, twists, wriggles -- 

"Yes, I see," Bruce says, pulling back and *pulling* Tim away from Clark -- 

But only for long enough to spread Tim's legs, to *wrap* Tim around Clark, press his body so -- 

So soft and smooth -- 

So damp and flushed -- 

And Clark is shuddering with every need, every desire, every *sweetness*. 

"Oh -- Clark, are *you* all right?" And Tim cups his face, *searches* him -- 

Studies -- 

"Is it -- is it not right? I'll --" 

"Everything about you --" 

"*Mm* --" 

"You're going to have to try to give more helpful answers than that, my companion," Bruce says, laughing *clearly* under his voice -- 

Clark *glares* at him through Tim's head -- 

Bruce laughs *louder* even though he can't possible *tell* what Clark is -- 

But of course he can. 

"Kiss him more deeply, Kal..." 

Oh, yes. And he moves to do just *that* -- 

But Tim pulls back and searches him again, licks his soft lips -- healed back to their normal size -- "Are you -- should I call you Kal now?" 

As always when a lover asks him that, the temptation to tease -- and to do so *aggressively* -- rises large within him: Is that who you wish? 

But... Tim is not the others. Tim is like no one *else* -- 

And his companion is here. He raises an eyebrow at Bruce, as welcoming as he *can* -- 

And Bruce's answering smile is wry and warm and gentle -- _{I would take warmth from your fire, my companion -- never the fire itself.}_

Clark shivers and *moans* -- 

Tim *obviously* tries to translate that, and -- 

And it's entirely unworthy that Clark doesn't want him to do so. Clark kisses his temple. "Bruce was reassuring me -- again -- that he would not attempt to seduce --" 

"I'm -- I'm *faithful*!" And Tim's tone is -- precisely as worried and *hurt* as it *should* be now that *enough* milliseconds have passed and Clark can *think*. 

Clark breathes and *clutches* Tim -- 

"Nnh -- *Clark* --" 

"You're faithful --" 

"You -- you don't *know* me well enough --" 

"Don't doubt my love for you, fine one --" 

"I --" 

"*Don't*," Clark *orders* -- 

And Tim *grunts* -- and goes slightly *loose* -- but not quite loose enough. 

Clark nods to himself. He has doubted too much, and he has shared too little. "Understand this, Tim: Both Bruce and I spent our adolescences *precisely* as convinced of our own fundamental -- *essential* -- lack of attractiveness, charm, and *suitability* --" 

"I --" 

"As *you* have." 

Tim stiffens *while* blinking -- 

And Bruce actually *chuckles* in the moments before he kisses Tim's -- free -- ear. "I'm far, far better at pretending that I've 'gotten over' that than Clark is." 

"I." 

Bruce kisses Tim again -- 

"Oh --" 

"It helps -- immensely -- that I must spend a significant portion of my existence... hmm... steeped in the deepest, profoundest, and most *thorough* possible lies about a man who, of course, has never -- ever -- felt anything but entirely confident about his own... attractiveness," Bruce says, and inhales next to Tim's temple -- 

Clark knows precisely how *sweet* he still smells there -- 

Tim uses Bruce's *conditioner* -- 

Bruce *sighs*. "It's a lie which has become true --" 

"For you?" And Tim's tone is sharp, curious, *shrewd* --

"At times, yes," Bruce says, and cups Tim's shoulders. "Ask any performer who has taken on a role for a lengthy period of time, and they will tell you that there are several aspects of that character -- that *person* -- which have become their own. That there are points of self which they are no longer positive whether they are things they created to enrich the role, or if they were simply things they didn't understand about themselves as well as they could have before they began playing the role. I am -- I can be -- a very confident man, Tim." 

Tim swallows, and meets *Clark's* gaze. "Is it. Is it a character failing." 

"Yes... and no." And Bruce leans in to lick new sweat from Tim's temple -- 

And Tim winces with new *lust* -- 

And Clark licks his *lips* -- 

"What it is, more than anything else, is something I must wield very carefully indeed around the people I love the most." 

"I -- a weapon?" 

"Yes, Tim. Confidence is always a weapon. We will teach you how to use it -- and use it well. Please stand." 

Tim gasps. "I --" 

"Please." 

"But. On the bed?" 

Bruce strokes down to Tim's wrists and encircles them with palms Clark knows are hard, rough, *strong* -- 

Tim *shivers* -- 

"I want to watch you play with my sons." 

Tim *blinks* -- "Ah. Sexually?" 

Bruce laughs with *ribald* pleasure -- "Among other ways. Kal...?" 

Clark hums -- and kisses Tim deeply -- 

Kisses him hard -- 

Kisses him wet, so *wet*, making a point of stimulating his salivary glands as much as possible. Tim hasn't eaten quite enough today -- his saliva is -- mm. Very sweet. And then Clark pulls back. 

"Oh --" 

"Bruce often calls me Kal when he wishes... more intimacy. More *closeness*." 

"Yes," Bruce says, and nips the shell of Tim's ear -- 

"Anyone -- oh, anyone would want -- with you --" 

"Beloved one, you must never dream of freedom," Clark says, and pushes two fingers deep into Tim's mouth -- 

"*Mmph* --" 

"Jay isn't going to like that sentiment very much, Kal." 

"Perhaps... perhaps we won't tell him?" 

Bruce raises an eyebrow at him. 

Clark sighs. "Yes, I know. But -- well. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," he says, and turns back to -- wait. "Where *is* Jay?" 

"Discussing magic with Jason." 

"I can't hear --"

"They..." Bruce's expression... 

Well, that's less of a quirk than a pained *twist*, and really -- "Yes, my companion?" 

"Catherine... began... sharing." 

"The... but." The images are compelling. That beautiful, large, *wooden* woman -- 

The way she moved both quickly and *utterly* imperceptibly to *him* -- 

Her expressions of love and cheer and hope and -- and *more* love -- 

Her *focus* on *Jay* -- 

And Jason Blood's insistence that she was -- *is* -- dead.

Undead? 

Clark licks his lips with nervousness he feels no shame for whatsoever. "When you say she's... sharing..."

Bruce's laugh is less ribald than rueful, and -- yes, that *is* a tinge of horror in his voice. "There appears to be a goddess in my home." 

"Oh, dear. Ah... what..." 

"She is *discussing* with Jason and Jay, in *great* detail, just what sort of *lesson plan* she approves of for Jay in terms of..." And Bruce bares his *teeth* -- "*Magic* use." 

"And she's using the body --" 

"And the *voice* of Catherine Todd --" Bruce growls and shakes his head. "Jay. *Jay* appears to have grown entirely comfortable with it in the time he spent... elsewhere. Jay told me that, were the so-called All-Mother --" 

"You may wish to be less --" 

Bruce growls *again* -- and then coughs and smiles with *angry* ruefulness. "You're correct, of course," he says, and then -- meditates. 

At speed. 

Clark turns Tim on his lap again so that he can better *see* Bruce -- 

"Oh -- thank you --" 

"Of course, fine one." 

"I -- is he -- is everyone -- all right?" 

Clark kisses the top of Tim's head. "Oh, yes. If not, Bruce would have --" 

"Oh -- *oh*. Of course. I'm sorry --" 

Clark presses two fingers to Tim's mouth and smiles. "You're allowed to be somewhat... distracted," he says, and lets his tone be precisely as hopeful as he *is*. 

And Tim blinks at him rapidly -- 

And giggles -- 

And *hums*, pressing closer. 

His boy. 

*His*!

His boy who does -- and *will* -- grow upset if his faith is questioned... though perhaps less now that he understands...? 

How much *can* he understand -- but, no, Tim is a very, *very* intelligent boy -- 

But it *still* wouldn't be right to strain him, to *force* him to pain he wouldn't enjoy. 

Better -- *best* -- to show his faith in *Tim's* faith by being precisely as *needy* as he is. And so Clark wraps his arms around his love and squeezes and sniffs -- 

Perhaps *somewhat* like Jay -- 

Tim giggles more and *wriggles* more -- 

Wonderful, *wonderful* -- 

And Bruce sighs himself back *to* himself -- 

Was that even two *minutes*? 

Tim, of course, looks completely *fascinated* -- and Clark...

Clark finds himself moving before he's thinking, placing Tim *firmly* on Bruce's lap -- 

As Bruce hums and reaches for Tim -- 

As Tim's heart speeds --

As Tim starts to look to him and *stops* himself -- 

"Always ask if you have doubts," Bruce says, and pulls Tim gently to himself.

"Always *stop* us if you need to," Clark Kent says, even though Clark isn't sure if he should *give* the man a say -- 

"No -- no, I don't think I will --" 

"Tim." 

And Clark frowns -- 

But Tim smiles, small and only a *little* shaky, and reaches up to stroke Bruce's face. His stubble is nearly as long and rough as he ever allows it to get -- it will only be another two hours before he shaves for the second time today, before patrol -- and Tim is clearly enjoying it -- 

"We'll need you to explain that, beautiful boy," Bruce says, low and amused and pleased -- 

Bruce has *always* felt that his body hair made him 'uncomfortably bearish' and enjoys being *enjoyed* for it -- 

"Hmm? *Oh* -- I -- hm," Tim says, and leans in to kiss Bruce's cheeks -- right, then left -- 

Clark *doesn't* lick the bruise he's left on the back of Tim's neck -- 

"*Mm* --" 

Much --" 

"Oh, I -- what? What was I saying?" 

"Why you're not stopping us," Bruce says, and *bites* Tim's right cheekbone -- 

Tim moans -- 

"Ever...?" 

"No -- no, not ever -- um." 

"Tell us," Clark says, and massages Tim's buttocks -- 

Tim gurgles. That -- 

Well, it's somewhat terrible that he's given himself an addiction to that noise, but -- 

"Hmm." And Bruce bites Tim's *other* cheekbone -- 

"Nnh --" 

"Even if we hurt you?" 

"No -- not then --" 

Bruce *grips* Tim's wrists. "Even if we hurt you *badly*." And that -- oh, that was a *threat* -- 

And Tim's moan is sweet and quiet and -- high-pitched. 

Clark does *nothing* to repress his grunt -- 

The twitch of his penis that *spatters* Tim's buttocks and the backs of his thighs with pre-ejaculate -- 

That makes Tim *jerk* -- against Bruce -- and moan *again* -- 

And Bruce narrows his eyes so *hungrily*. "Are you quite sure you don't want to rethink that, Tim...?" 

And *that* was the *Batman* -- 

Clark wants to *warn* Tim -- 

But the way Tim stiffens and then relaxes so *professionally* -- he knows. 

He *knows* -- 

"Yes, Batman. I'm sure," he says, and lifts his chin -- but *not* enough to make his throat a *target*. 

*Batman's* growl is the menace of a predator *angry* at having been starved -- 

Tim is so *flushed* again -- 

"Explain yourself." 

"Yes, Batman," Tim says, and shifts on his knees until his posture is as correct as he can *make* it. 

His balance is *excellent* -- and Clark gives himself permission to let Bruce notice such things while he focuses on noticing the scent of Tim's sweat -- 

The salt of rising arousal -- 

*Again*, and Clark *doesn't* promise to make love to Tim until he loses consciousness -- 

Yet -- 

"If -- if I stop you..." 

Bruce raises an *eyebrow* instead of using language -- 

Tim sighs and shivers and *smiles* -- 

And Clark can smell *Bruce's* arousal rising -- *spiking* -- for that. Jay *never* responds well to that sort of thing, and Dick had always needed to be in the *mood* to respond well to that sort of thing, and Bruce -- 

Bruce is tightening his grip on Tim's wrists, slowly and *inexorably*. 

Tim makes a *soft* sound -- 

"More. Now," Bruce says -- 

And Tim *moans* again -- 

And a part of Clark only wants to give Tim more information, to *tell* Tim how much he's arousing Bruce, pleasing Bruce, *thrilling* -- but. 

"Yes, Batman," Tim says, and *flexes* his wrists in Bruce's grip -- 

Bruce tightens his hold still *more* -- 

And Clark knows that *Tim* knows, that he's *learning* this as he's learning all other *things* -- 

"If I stop you," Tim says, and his voice is low, sweet, *hungry*, "then I won't get what I want." 

Bruce narrows his eyes. "Have you so little faith in us...?" A growling *purr* -- 

"*Never*," Tim says, and he is *vehement*, so -- 

Clark *has* to cup his throat and scrotum once more, *must* squeeze -- 

"Nngh -- *ohn* --" 

And Tim shakes for him, shakes and *tries* to keep still, to keep his *posture* -- 

"Surrender. Now," Bruce says -- 

And Tim goes limp -- 

"Show me," Clark says -- 

And Tim moves, writhes, *twists* -- 

Clark squeezes *hard* -- 

"*Fuck*!" 

Bruce hums with a pleasure Clark can *smell* is *still* scandalized -- though he's hiding it well. 

Clark bites the *side* of Tim's throat -- 

"Oh -- oh, *ow* -- is -- oh, *Clark*!" 

"Mm...?" 

"Is it -- a punishment?" 

Clark bites harder for a moment -- 

Tim bucks his slim hips, *driving* his penis -- fully erect once more and *slick* -- against Bruce's abdomen -- 

And then doing it again -- 

And then doing it *again*, obviously helplessly -- 

Clark bites him *harder* -- 

Tim *shouts* -- 

And Clark pulls back. "I prefer my punishments... to be announced." 

"Yes, Clark -- I mean -- what?" 

Bruce laughs softly. "You'll know when Clark punishes you, beautiful boy." 

Tim stares at him *dazedly* -- 

"As an example," Clark says, cupping Tim's hips -- and forcibly *stilling* them. 

"*Please*!" 

"As you can see..." And Bruce raises an eyebrow again instead of finishing. 

Tim -- Clark looks through the back of his head to be *absolutely* sure -- gapes. 

Bruce hums. "You're certain now, yes...?" 

"I." 

"Speak, beautiful boy. Tell us... tell us *everything* about why you'll never stop us. Why you believe stopping us will keep you from getting that which you desire." 

Tim swallows *audibly* -- "I..." And he licks his lips -- 

Clark squeezes his hips *just* hard enough to leave bruises, to -- 

"Oh -- oh, *Clark* --" 

"Speak, beloved one." 

"I want -- I want what you want!" 

Clark blinks and tries -- 

Tries to believe that there's nothing wrong with that, that he can have this, that the desire he sees in Bruce's eyes -- 

That the hunger he *feels* in the pound of his heart -- 

That he *hears* in the pound of Bruce's heart, the rush of his blood -- 

"Tim..." 

"Don't -- *nnk* --" 

And Bruce's hand is thick around Tim's throat, heavy, strong, *forcing* Tim's head *up* -- "Beautiful boy," Bruce *purrs*, "you are putting yourself in a position from which you can give no orders -- and make no *choices* -- at all." 

And Tim opens his mouth -- to breathe? To speak? 

No *sound* comes out -- 

No *air* -- 

Nothing *can* come out -- 

And Clark... is still holding Tim perfectly, perfectly still. They -- 

They're not being *fair* -- 

"Tim. In a moment I will allow you to speak again, but first it's necessary for us to slow down. You must *think* now, and..." And Bruce trails off.

Because Tim is smiling. 

Not slyly. 

Not sharply. 

*Sweetly*, and openly, and -- 

So *gently* -- 

"Tim..." And that was *his* voice, breathless and -- 

And half-*broken* -- 

"I trust you," Tim -- Tim *mouths*, because there is no sound which *can* come out of his mouth, no -- 

They've taken his *voice* -- 

"I trust you with everything."


	8. World's Perviest.

And for a moment, Tim thinks it won't work, that he'll have to come up with something *else* to say -- 

Some other way to *convince* -- 

It's just that he's never *had* anyone to trust before -- 

Never had anyone to -- 

To *touch* --

To touch *him*, and he'll do *anything*, and they have to understand that, have to understand that it's all so *good*, so new and strange and exciting and arousing and painful and -- 

And -- 

There has to be a *word*, a pithy, good, *descriptive* word for that feeling, *this* feeling: 

Bruce Wayne's *fist* -- not his hand, that's not good enough -- wrapped around his *throat* -- 

Holding him *tight*, holding him *just* as still as Clark's -- *not* Clark Kent's, and so maybe *not* Bruce Wayne's, but he doesn't know enough, but he will he will he *will* -- 

But Bruce's *fist* is around his *throat* -- 

And Clark's *hands* are on his *hips* -- 

And even if Tim *wasn't* on his knees right now? He would be. 

He would be on his knees, and he would be *begging*, just like now, and he wants his eyes to be expressive, wants -- 

Oh, but wait -- 

"Please," he says, silent and -- 

And he makes sure to move his lips the right way, and to *try* to move, but not *away* -- 

"*Please* --" 

And Bruce growls, so low, so much lower than Clark, and *Clark's* voice when he growls makes Tim feel -- inescapably *feminine*, but Bruce is like -- 

Well, no, *neither* of them growls like Jay, because *Jay* growls like an actual *animal*, and the part of him which wants -- very *badly* -- to feel guilty for that thought is *actually* *slow*, because Jay is, right now, having a discussion about *magic* with an *immortal* and a *goddess* and that -- 

Anything is possible. 

Or -- 

Many things are possible. 

Including -- this. "Please," Tim mouths again, and moves more -- 

*More* -- 

And then he *can't*, because Bruce and Clark tighten their grips at *once* -- 

But is that *possible*? They're different people, and they don't -- 

They don't even *work* together that often, surely they can't -- 

But it doesn't matter, because Tim's tongue feels huge in his mouth, and Tim's hips are bruised, and it feels like Tim's penis is throbbing everywhere it *isn't* touching Bruce's hairy abdomen, his slick-smooth workout shorts -- 

"Please! *Please*!" And there's no breath, no sound, not even a *whistle* -- 

"I..." 

"Bruce." And Clark's voice sounds so *strained* -- 

"My companion..." And *Bruce's* voice sounds so *amused*, but -- not at Tim. At himself? 

Tim can't *see*, because they're looking at *each other*, and the way Bruce is holding his throat -- 

They're holding him so still -- 

But will they tie him someday?

... today? 

Tim groans in his *chest*, and his penis twitches *hard* -- 

"I... cannot," Bruce says -- 

"No," Clark says, but it sounds like he's *agreeing* -- 

Tim wants to -- 

And Bruce's kiss is so hard, so -- 

So *scratchy* with -- oh, but that's *stubble*, and Clark hadn't had *any*, and -- 

And Bruce's lips are so *thin* -- but. 

They're softer than Clark's, gentler -- 

No, not that, because they'd be driving Tim back if Bruce wasn't holding Tim's head still, holding him by the hair *and* the throat, holding him and kissing him so *hard* -- 

Tim moans -- and *yells* into Bruce's mouth, because Clark bites the *shell* of his ear -- 

And Bruce pushes his tongue so *deep* -- 

And Bruce's tongue is *soft* compared to Clark's, but still slick, still *huge* in Tim's *mouth* -- 

"We're going to hurt you, Tim," Clark says, and his voice is right, low, soft, *careful* the way he always is when he wants to *reassure* Tim, when he wants to make sure Tim *understands* -- 

He wants to make sure Tim understands *this* -- 

Tim squeezes his eyes shut because -- 

And Clark inhales sharply next to his ear -- 

But Bruce *bites* Tim's lip, and Tim whimpers and tries -- 

His *body* tries to buck, it has nothing to do with him, he wants -- 

He can see himself, *feel* himself moving against Bruce, thrusting against his -- his *hairy* abdomen, so soft and scratchy at once, hard and warm -- 

Not as warm as Clark -- 

He's sweating in *anticipation* -- 

Clark is holding him *away* -- 

And Clark makes a sound, low and -- not quiet. *Not* soft, and it *lasts* even as he moves his hands from Tim's hips -- "Don't. Move." 

Tim gasps -- 

Bruce pulls *back* -- "Answer him." 

"Yes -- yes, Bat--" 

"No." 

"Yes, Bruce!" 

Bruce hums and *licks* Tim's mouth. "Good boy. *Answer* him." 

"Yes, Bruce. I -- I -- I won't move, Clark!" 

Clark sighs and licks *into* Tim's ear, and Tim can't help *stiffening*, shivering -- 

Bruce narrows his *eyes* -- 

"I'm sorry!" 

Bruce hums -- and strokes up the underside of Tim's penis with the tip of his index finger. It's hard, it's so *rough* compared to Clark's, it's *callused*, and Tim stiffens *more* -- 

He can't -- 

He *can't*, and he *shivers* more -- 

"Please --" 

"Shall we punish him, my companion...?" 

Clark *growls*, and it's so *soft* compared to Bruce's growls, so *warm* and not -- 

Not *hot* -- 

Until Clark bites Tim's ear so *hard* -- 

Tim cries *out* -- 

"I enjoy that sound, beautiful boy," Bruce says, smiling and stroking just beneath the *head* of Tim's penis -- 

Stroking and *stroking* -- 

"I... mm. Make it again." 

"I --" 

Clark *bites* him again -- 

Tim *yells* -- 

"Hmm. I believe that was close enough," Bruce says, laughing under his voice and continuing to stroke, to *rub*, and Tim's so hard, so -- 

He's leaking, he's *slick* -- 

But not as slick as Clark's fingers in his cleft. Not -- 

Clark *sucks* the shell of Tim's ear. "No punishment -- yet." 

"As you say. *Did* you have anything in particular in mind?" 

Clark sighs again -- no, that was a *pant*. "Pleasure until he loses consciousness." 

*Bruce* sighs, and strokes down to Tim's *ass* -- and spreads him -- 

"*Mm* --" 

"Always a favorite. Did you have thoughts about what we'll do after that...?" 

And Tim -- 

Tim can see the edge of Clark's *smile* -- 

It's so *sharp* -- 

"The answer is simple, my companion," Clark says, and pushes two thick, *thick* fingers so *deep* -- 

Fills him and opens him and *twists* -- 

Tim *screams* -- 

"Do elucidate." 

"We. Will. Wake. Him. *Up*," Clark says, and he thrusts every time, every time he stops, every time he *pauses*, and Tim can't stay still, can't -- 

He's *gripping* at Bruce's shoulders, clawing, *bouncing* on Clark's fingers, on his hand -- 

And that image -- 

It makes Tim's mouth fall open, makes his eyes widen, makes him shake his head and *whine* -- 

Like an *animal* -- 

"Fine one. What do you deny?" 

"Nuh -- you -- *please*!" 

"Answer, beautiful boy," Bruce says, and spreads him *wider* -- 

Tim -- oh, that was a *squawk* -- 

"Oh -- yes. *Answer*," Clark says, and kisses the top of Tim's head. "But never doubt that I love all of your sounds, all -- never *fear*." And Clark -- 

He pushes *deeper* somehow -- 

Tim *whimpers* -- 

"Don't make us wait, Tim," Bruce says, and pulls back -- 

"No!" 

"Behave appropriately, and receive everything you desire," Clark says, and he sounds so soft, so *reasonable* -- 

His fingers are so *thick* -- 

Tim groans and *shakes*, and -- 

And he's salivating again, and that had never *happened* when he was just masturbating, and he'd certainly never seen it in *porn*, but somehow it's something that happens now, that *keeps* happening, because -- 

Because control isn't his. 

Because *nothing* is his -- 

He'd *given* himself to Clark -- 

Or had Clark taken him? 

*Purchased* him -- and he's clenching and shaking again, shaking his head and trying to swallow back spit, not think, not -- 

Clenching *harder* so he can feel the *burn* of those fingers, so big, so *big* in him, and he knows what will be even -- 

"*Glk* --" 

And this time Bruce is -- is *lifting* him with the hand around his throat -- 

His eyes are so narrow and *hot* -- 

They look *angry* -- 

"I'm sorry!" And Tim mouths it as clearly as he can, as *perfectly* as he can, and then he mouths it *again* -- 

"Are you...?" 

"Yes!" 

Bruce hums -- 

Clark bites the back of Tim's neck -- 

Bites it -- oh, *around* the bruise, and Tim wants to lower his head, wants to moan, wants to *shake*, and can only do the last one, because Bruce is holding him so *tightly* -- 

Clark isn't -- isn't *thrusting* anymore -- 

Tim clenches *helplessly* -- 

Cries out *silently* -- 

And Bruce parts his lips -- and touches his tongue to the upper one for a moment before nodding. "You became distracted." 

"Yes! Please!" 

"You became... hmm. Lost in your thoughts." 

"Please!" 

"I believe he needs a greater degree of focus, my companion." 

And *Clark* hums, and it -- 

It *vibrates* the back of Tim's *neck* -- 

It makes Tim shake and *twitch* -- 

It makes Tim's *nipples* get harder, seems to almost -- almost *pull* on them from the *back*, and he can't -- 

"Be *still*, Tim." 

"Yes, Bruce!" Except that he doesn't think he'd managed to *finish* mouthing that, because Clark is holding his penis again, *squeezing* his penis again, and Tim can't see, can't --

Can't *breathe*, and he doesn't know if that's because of Bruce's fist around his throat, or -- 

Or the thrusts -- 

Or the squeezes, so many, so *rhythmic*, and they both have such big *hands* -- 

And -- 

And Tim thinks he might be *flailing*, because Bruce is squeezing his *throat* now, squeezing it in the opposite rhythm to the one Clark's using on -- 

On his penis --

He can't -- 

"Focus -- only -- on us," Bruce says.

Yes, yes, he will -- 

Squeeze, and he -- his hands are -- he's reaching -- 

*Squeeze* and he's -- is he clawing? At someone -- 

"Respond -- only -- to what we tell you to respond to," Clark says. 

Always, only, *please*, and that must be aloud, he wants -- 

*Squeeze*, and there's a sound like a whine, a desperate --

Hungry -- 

He's -- 

*Squeeze* -- 

"Give us everything." 

*Squeeze* -- 

Always, always -- 

"All of yourself, fine one." 

*Squeeze* -- 

"You should -- mm. But no, you're not quite ready to come for us, are you," Clark says, and kisses him -- 

Tilts his head back and kisses him all over his face -- 

*Squeeze*, and that's -- 

Oh, that's both their hands *together* on him -- 

He's not *big* enough for that -- 

"And you blush --" 

And Bruce growls -- 

*Squeeze* -- 

Oh -- 

Oh, they're both squeezing so *hard*, squeezing his throat and penis *and* scrotum -- 

Tim wants to whine and writhe and move, twist, beg -- 

But is he begging? They have to know! He has to tell them! 

"Oh, I -- I must --" 

"I believe you've already had your turn, my companion..." 

"Oh, that's -- mm. That's absolutely true, but..." 

"Yes...?" 

And then Clark growls -- 

And Bruce releases Tim's throat -- 

And there's *another* finger inside him -- 

So deep -- 

So wide -- 

And Tim whimpers and tosses his head, *claws* at the -- 

He's clawing at the *bed*, because suddenly he's on his hands and knees on the coverlet, he's not -- 

He's not *touching* Bruce anymore, he doesn't know where -- 

He lifts his head -- 

But that's Bruce's hand -- it can't be anyone else's; it's heavy, it's human-warm, it's so hard, it's so *rough* -- 

It's massaging the back of his neck -- so *bruised*! 

It's pushing him -- 

Down.

Down. 

*Down*, and Tim pushes his face into the coverlet, grinds his face -- 

And Bruce hums with such -- such *amusement* -- "Jay does just that when he wishes me to lose my control, beautiful boy. Do you wish me to lose my control...?"

And the images for that -- are not images. It's -- sensation. Imagination. Fantasy-wish-*speculation*. 

Pain and dream and *rush* -- but he has to be *faster*, and he has to *talk* -- "Yes!" 

"Then I will... but not until you're more... practiced," Bruce says, and he still sounds so -- 

"We will not *injure* you, fine one," Clark says, and Tim wants to be *better* -- 

*Ready* -- 

"Oh -- that scent -- I will have no regrets. Not for your innocence." And Clark twists his fingers so *hard* -- 

So -- 

Tim *howls* -- 

"Yes, fine one, *just* like that --" 

"I -- I --" 

Clark twists again -- 

Tim *shrieks* -- and *gulps*, because those are two of Bruce's fingers in his mouth, pressing down on his tongue, *petting* his tongue -- 

"It isn't, of course, that I want you silent," Bruce says. 

"Mm?" 

Bruce laughs -- 

And Clark begins to thrust more -- more *steadily*, with *less* of a twist. "We will never want your silence, Tim." 

"You may take that as a promise," Bruce says, turning his fingers enough to tickle Tim's palate -- 

Tim shivers and clenches and makes -- a very weird sound -- 

Bruce raises an eyebrow -- 

"I would bury myself in you *daily*." 

"Clark." 

"Oh -- well. I would bury myself in you several *times* a day, truly." 

"Much better," Bruce says, and begins to -- to *fuck* Tim's mouth with his fingers -- 

Tim moans *helplessly* -- 

"What was that your father always said, Bruce...?" 

"'Exactitude is the razor that slices humanity away from the beasts of the field'... well. My father may have had a compulsion or two." 

"You don't say." 

"We must not judge him harshly, my companion," Bruce says, pressing down *hard* on Tim's tongue -- 

"Never that," Clark says, crooking *up* hard against Tim's prostate -- 

Tim *wails* -- 

Wails and whimpers and *shakes* and -- and *salivates* more -- 

And Bruce sighs and pulls his *wet* fingers from Tim's mouth -- 

Tim blushes so *hard* -- 

And blushes more when Bruce *sucks* his fingers -- with relish. 

And licks his lips. 

And -- shivers, before moving off the bed to strip off his few clothes at speed -- 

Oh. *Oh*, and it seems so *much* that Clark is allowing him to watch, that *Bruce* is allowing him to watch, that -- that *life* is allowing this -- 

That this is *his* -- 

"We..." Bruce stretches and growls, naked, hairy, *scarred* -- 

"Yes, my companion?" 

"We must be open-minded, Clark." 

"Oh, at all times," Clark says, and pulls *out* -- 

"No! Oh, no!" 

"Shh, beloved one. I will fill you even more in a moment." And Clark pets him -- 

And Tim blushes and *shakes* -- 

He shouldn't -- 

He can't just -- 

He ducks his head against the sheets and *shakes* more, and whimpers, and maybe if he makes sounds without -- 

"*AHN*!" 

Well, that was definitely a sound without a word, and that was what he'd wanted, but he can't see, he can't think, he can't -- 

He's so *full*!

There's something -- 

A part of him is *aware* that it's only fingers inside him, only *Clark's* fingers, and he's felt that before, *had* that -- 

"Four, beloved one," Clark says, and it feels like a whisper, so intimate, a kiss to his ear -- 

"Are you surprised that you can take so many...?" And that was Bruce, and he's -- not close, he can't touch, Tim can't touch, can't *see* -- 

He's so full, he can't clench, he can't possibly *clench*, because Clark's hands -- 

And his body -- 

And Clark isn't *moving* his fingers -- 

Clark is moving his whole *hand*, *rocking* it, rocking it back -- 

And forth -- 

And *back* -- 

And Tim is making noise, helpless noise, whimpering and begging and -- 

And he's *clawing* at the coverlet again, and -- are his eyes wet? Is he crying? 

"You're so very beautiful..." And that was Clark, he'll always know Clark's voice, how he sounds when he -- when he *loves* Tim -- 

When Tim is being *correct* -- 

But he's -- 

He can't -- 

"Does it feel as though Clark can change everything about you with a flex of his fingers...?" 

"*Yes*!" And then Tim *sobs*, because he hadn't meant to speak, to yell, to -- to *express* -- 

But Clark groans and rocks his hand *faster*, so much -- 

No, it's still *slow*, still *steady*, but Tim's thighs are shaking for it, Tim's belly is flipping inside, clenching, and that means his *ass* will -- 

And he *howls* when he clenches, needs, *needs* -- 

"Beautiful," Bruce says, and it's a growl, a *bite* in the air -- 

He's closer -- 

Tim can *hear* that, and he wants to be able to see, to -- to *focus* past the blur of his tears, the stretch of his -- 

"I'm so *open*!" And he hadn't meant to say that *either* -- 

"For us, fine one..." 

_{And we do hunger...}_

_{And we do *ache*,}_ Clark says, speaking slowly, clearly, *enunciating* -- 

It feels like every rock, every *push* of his fingers -- 

His four big *fingers* -- 

It feels like every push of those fingers is making Tim more open and more full at once, more -- 

More *ready* -- 

"Is that so...?" 

"Wh-what?" 

And Bruce chuckles and -- he's back on the bed, he's -- 

He has one hand in Tim's hair and the other cupping Tim's chin -- 

Lifting Tim's *face* -- 

Bruce's penis is right *there* -- 

"Are you more ready for us...?" 

"More than you were, fine one?" 

"I --" And then he's groaning again, *whining*, because somehow -- 

Somehow Clark hadn't pushed all the way *in* with his four fingers -- 

He was -- 

It was *shallow*, and now it isn't, now it's so -- 

"*Stop* shaking your head," Bruce says -- 

"You may not deny this," Clark says -- 

"I'm sorry!" 

"Shh, we know, fine one. You must not worry about... hmm... being perfect right out of the gate --" 

"As it were," Bruce says, and *grips* his own penis around the base -- 

"Oh, yes," Clark says. "We will take great pleasure --" 

"Every. Pleasure." 

"-- in correcting you. Here," Clark says, and crooks -- 

All -- 

All of his fingers at *once*, and Tim can't stop himself from crying out, from doing it again -- 

*Again* -- 

And he's trying not to shake his head, not to *deny*, he doesn't *want* to deny, it's just that the feeling is all through him, so loud, so hot, so -- 

So *intense*, and he can feel himself *leaking*, so -- 

It's like his penis is drooling as much as his *mouth* is, and he's never wanted to be *messy*, never -- 

"*Perfect*," Bruce says, and --

"*Mm*!" 

Bruce's penis is in his mouth -- so -- 

Oh, it's just the head, but it's so thick, so -- 

Oh, it tastes so *different*!

And it *feels* different from Clark's, and Tim wants to touch, to stroke, to *examine* -- 

But then Clark crooks his fingers *again* -- 

And Tim *screams* -- 

And Bruce *thrusts*, and a part of Tim is only choking, fighting, denying -- 

"*No*, fine one." 

He stills. 

He stills -- 

"Oh... very good, indeed," Bruce says, and his penis is pushing -- 

It's so -- 

"Swallow *now*, fine one." 

Tim does -- and Bruce's penis is in his throat -- 

And there's no air -- 

And Bruce's pubic hair is scratchy and thick on his face, all over his *face* -- 

And Bruce is sighing, laughing *gently*, *moaning* as he cups the back of Tim's neck -- 

"Of course, we'll have you in every possible way, beautiful boy." 

And Clark sighs and pulls his fingers -- 

His four thick *fingers* -- 

Pulls them most of the way *out* -- "We'll have you -- mm. Again, and again, and *again*..." 

Tim wants to whimper and beg and -- 

His *arms* collapse -- 

But Bruce catches his shoulders and holds him *up*. "We will be... unrelenting." 

"Oh, yes," Clark says, and *shoves* deep -- 

Tim can't scream he can't scream he can't -- 

"Yes, that's -- mm. So. That *would* be the best way to put it," he says, and then -- 

And then he thrusts again -- 

And again -- 

And -- 

And then *Bruce* pulls out -- 

Just enough, just enough that Tim can breathe, but what he's really doing is screaming, crying, screaming so -- 

"Shh," Bruce says. 

"I'm sorry!" Except that no one could *possibly* understand that, it's so slurred, and Bruce's penis is so *big*, and -- 

"Are you." 

And Tim's eyes are wide, he's shocked, but should he be? 

Of course they can understand him, of course they can *know* him -- 

Have him -- 

"Hmm. Do consider it," Clark says -- 

"Another time," Bruce says, and *thrusts* -- 

Tim *gulps* -- 

Clark *sighs* -- "You arouse me powerfully, fine one..." 

Bruce -- Bruce *rumbles*. "You may have noticed... similar reactions..." And he laughs again -- 

And thrusts -- 

And -- 

Oh, it's so *slow*, so *slow*, and Tim wants -- 

"Oh... beloved one," Clark says, and kisses Tim's back -- 

Kisses all *over* Tim's back -- 

"You want Bruce to take you faster. Don't you." 

Bruce lets out a sound like a panted *growl* -- "Say yes." 

And for a moment Tim can't say anything, at all, can't *do* anything, because his penis is twitching *violently* -- 

And he's *clenching* -- 

And his *eyes* are rolling back in his *head* -- 

"Do it *now*, fine one --" 

And he's nodding before Clark finishes speaking, offering, *giving* -- 

He *will* be correct, he'll *always* be -- 

Bruce hums. "Good boy..." 

And it feels so good, makes him shiver, makes him hard, makes him *ache* -- 

But not as much as the thrust -- 

The -- 

The *fuck*, because Bruce is cupping Tim's cheek with one hand and the back of Tim's neck with the other -- 

Bruce is holding him in *place* -- 

Bruce is -- 

Oh, he's looking down into his eyes, holding him, *holding* him, and somehow that makes the fuck even better, deeper, thicker -- 

"Oh... your scent --" And Clark growls and pulls *out* -- 

"You will not. Stop. Sucking," Bruce says. 

He was sucking? He didn't know, but he won't stop, he won't, he'll *never* -- 

Except that he's *screaming* -- 

*Trying* to scream around Bruce's penis -- 

So big so thick so *warm* -- 

But. 

But Clark is pushing in -- 

Pushing *in*, *again*, and Tim never thought he'd be *able* to be fucked this much in such a short period of time, never imagined -- 

But that's a lie. He'd imagined it all the time, dreamed of it, dreamed of (Dick, Jay) who would grab him by the hips -- 

Just like -- 

Just like *this*, and oh, *in* -- 

*In*, and Clark is groaning, making sounds Tim can't -- oh, he's speaking another *language*! At -- at *speed*, and he's -- 

Fucking -- 

And now Tim is having an even harder time sucking, he wants to suck, wants to *take* -- 

Bruce's eyes are so *wild* -- "Clark won't last long like this, beautiful boy..." 

Oh -- 

"You are... mm. Far too tempting." 

And that's a fantasy, too, a fantasy he'd never *let* himself have, because how could he? 

Who would ever -- 

It feels like he's *red*, red all *over*, and he wants to whine for it, drool for it -- 

Leak even *more* -- 

But mostly he wants this, *just* this, because Bruce and Clark are *working* him between them -- 

Pushing -- 

No, no, working is the best word, or maybe --

Using -- 

"And how your lashes flutter..." Bruce growls and tightens his *grip* -- 

And Clark says -- 

Tim doesn't *know*, but it's so fervent, so -- 

It's as passionate as the grind of his hips, the *fuck* of his hips, and, Tim wants more, so much -- 

"Nnh -- no. I can't," Bruce says, and pulls out -- 

And Tim -- oh, God, that was a *yowl* -- 

"Yes, *every* sound, beautiful boy," Bruce says, and he's still holding him, still -- 

But only with *one* hand, because he's stroking his own penis with the other, slow and -- 

And *brutal* -- 

And Clark is *speed*-babbling -- 

And fucking Tim faster -- 

"Harder, my companion..." And Bruce shows his *teeth* -- 

And Tim opens his mouth to say -- 

He doesn't *know* what he was going to say, but it comes out another yowl, another broken *yell*, because when Clark pulls out almost all the way -- 

When *tears* roll down Tim's cheeks -- 

"*Beautiful*. *Now*, Clark --" 

"*Yes*," Clark says, and thrusts *deep* -- 

And Tim feels himself full, thrilled, forced, *taken*, yes, *taken*, and the noises he's making are so *loud* -- 

And they get even louder when Bruce slips the *tip* of his penis in his mouth and Tim can't do anything but sob and clench and howl and come -- 

So -- 

So *hard* -- 

And he's clenching more, wriggling, flexing trying to -- 

Clark's holding him so *tightly* -- 

"*Suck*, Tim..." 

And his penis *spasms* even as his mouth *works* on Bruce's penis, his -- 

Oh, he doesn't think there's anything coming *out* of his penis, but he can't stop -- 

He's shuddering all *over* -- 

And sucking. And -- 

And moaning and licking and -- yes, he can -- 

Clark had *liked* it when Tim had fucked his own mouth on his penis, and doing it with Bruce's makes him spasm again -- 

Makes him groan and *clench* again -- 

Cry *out* when Clark holds him so -- 

So *tight*, and it hurts, it hurts, and he'd promised, and he keeps his promises, and his penis is so thick inside Tim, so warm, so *hot* -- 

So slick -- 

So *slick*, because *Clark* is crying out -- 

And ejaculating. 

Tim groans and blushes so -- 

Oh, every time Clark ejaculates inside him, it's so -- 

And Tim wants to tell Clark everything, every fantasy, every dream, every *wish*. What it was like to go to *those* sites and seriously *consider* using his allowance to buy the toys that could be filled with warm fluids, which could be *made* to fill -- you. 

And now he's moaning around Bruce's penis, nodding and moaning and -- 

Clark would want to hear that, wouldn't he? Clark wants his fantasies and his -- 

Everything *about* him, and Tim can *tell* him, and be more *correct* that way, be who Clark wants -- 

And perhaps Bruce wants that, too? 

Bruce seems like someone who enjoys -- no, he *does* enjoy teasing, and *being* teased, physically and intellectually and emotionally, and Tim can't help moaning more, moaning for the *possibilities* -- 

"Are you seriously double-teaming him *already*?" 

Oh -- oh, *Jay*!

And Clark laughs so *brightly* -- 

And ejaculates *more* -- 

And Bruce hums and pushes *slightly* deeper -- before pulling almost all the way out and *shaking*. "That... certainly seems to be the case -- *nnh* --" 

And Jay -- grips Bruce's *scrotum*. 

Bruce smiles so *hugely* -- 

He looks... insane, actually. 

Hm -- 

"Yo, bro, are you *okay*?" 

"Mm? Mm-hm!" 

Bruce shudders and groans and *hums* -- 

And Jay *snorts* -- "God, you perverted *asshole* --" 

"Yours -- nnh. Yours, of course --" 

"Uh, hunh. I should make you pull out and jerk off on the *floor*." 

*Clark* hums. "To be fair, Jay, this is *Tim's* floor now --" 

"Hey, I'd make him lick it up --" 

Bruce grunts and *thrusts* -- 

Tim *gulps* -- 

"Hey, *easy*, B --" 

"I --" 

"I'm pretty sure bro's new at this -- hey, are you new at this?" 

Tim tries to *focus* -- 

On more than the way he's *leaking* -- 

And sweating -- 

And -- oh, *drooling* again -- 

And Jay is looking at him like he's capable of conversation even though Bruce's *penis* is in his *mouth*. That. 

Tim raises an eyebrow. 

Bruce *coughs* a laugh -- 

"Hey, it's a reasonable question," Jay says. "You were all shy!" 

It's true. And he *is* shy -- 

And maybe he should be more shy? Right now?

He's *leaking* -- 

But then Clark *murmurs* something and *strokes* Tim's penis -- 

Tim groans and spasms and twitches and jerks and groans *more* -- 

"Don't even *think* about fucking that throat, B." 

"That. Could be. Difficult... to achieve." 

Jay snorts. "Hey, I *know* how you do, asshole. I wanna *talk* to my new brother later."

Tim *flexes* and *whimpers* -- 

Sucks *hard* -- 

Oh, that was a *reflex* -- 

And Bruce is *growling* --

Growling and *shaking* -- 

Clark is stroking Tim's thighs almost *restlessly* -- 

"Heh. I see *everybody* liked that statement. Cool. But mostly -- hey, do you need to come again, Tim?" 

Tim's eyes roll back -- 

No, no, he's going to stay *conscious* -- 

It's something he can do, *has* to do, because Jay wants to *talk* to him -- 

And Clark clears his throat. "I believe Tim needs to rest... for a little while." 

And Jay -- shows his teeth. "Then there's only *one* thing to do," he says, turning and *biting* Bruce's left nipple -- 

"*Jay* --" 

"Mm-hmm..." 

And Bruce *snarls* and releases Tim's head with his left hand -- 

*Grips* the back of *Jay's* head -- 

And -- doesn't pump into Tim's mouth. Doesn't thrust, doesn't -- 

Tim reaches to *check* -- and oh, Jay's hand is so *big* for a teenager! And so.

Strong. 

Tim swallows and moans and *sucks* the head of Bruce's penis, licks and nibbles and *whimpers*, because he can't stop imagining what it would feel like to have Jay hold *his* penis that way -- 

*Work* his penis that way -- 

So *brutally* -- 

Bruce is growling *constantly* --

And maybe... 

Tim bares his teeth *cautiously* -- 

Scrapes -- 

And Bruce *roars*, twisting and shuddering and writhing in *place* -- 

"Impressive, isn't he?" And Clark is kissing the back of Tim's neck -- 

Clark is kissing his way down Tim's *spine* -- 

Clark -- 

Clark had pulled *out*, and *now* Tim can feel it, feel how swollen he is inside, how slick -- no. How *wet*, how wet and hot and swollen and Tim's whining as he scrapes -- 

As Bruce fights and *obviously* fights to keep exactly the sensations that he's *getting* -- 

Oh, but he has to *answer* -- Tim reaches back with his free hand and strokes Clark's side -- 

Clark shivers and *sucks* at the thin skin at the base of Tim's spine -- 

Tim cries out -- 

And then Bruce is *spattering* his mouth with -- with *semen* --

He tastes so *different* from Clark, he tastes -- oh, sweeter and milder and *muskier* at once -- 

Human? Is this -- 

Tim groans and *shakes* --

Whimpers *again* when Clark scrapes his *teeth* -- 

"Aw, *yeah*, B, you like that? You like seein' your come all over that pretty little mouth?" 

"*Jay* --" 

"It's all swollen for you, B. You been makin' my little brother *work*, yeah?" 

"I -- I --" 

"Makin' him *take* you. All of you? Fillin' him up? Thinkin' about me doin' the same *fuckin'* thing?" 

And Bruce ejaculates *again* -- 

"Yeah, *do* it --" 

And again *as* he pulls back -- 

"Where are *you* fuckin' -- *mmph* --" 

And then Jay is up in Bruce's *arms* -- and being... well, Tim supposes that that *could* be called a kiss. It's really more in line with what *he* would call a *mauling*, though, and -- 

"*Oh* --" 

And he's on his *back* -- 

And Clark is smiling down at him, pleased and amused and -- 

Licking him. 

Thoroughly. 

*Slowly* -- 

*Ticklishly* -- 

"*Clark* --" Except that that isn't what really comes out, because *that* noise was polysyllabic and half-strangled and also full of *giggles* -- 

"Aw, *yeah*, you gettin' his pits, Chester?" 

"Mm, I -- it did seem necessary," Clark says, and licks Tim *again* -- 

"Nobody -- nobody *came* on me there --" 

"Are you quite sure about that...?" And the way Bruce says that makes it a -- a *dare*, a somehow semen-intensive *challenge*, which is just *wrong* -- 

And possibly why Tim is giggling again -- 

But not why he's screaming. That has more to do with the fact that there's a massive brown *monster* on *top* of him and also *it's* licking him -- 

His *face* -- 

And it's making -- 

Sounds -- 

"Oh, hey, Dog, you done with Blood already?" 

And then the monster *flops* down on top of Tim, and its bony and huge and heavy and -- 

And also it's a dog. 

A very large -- 

Is it a boxer? Tim *thinks* that's a breed of dog -- 

And Jay is crawling up onto the bed next to him --

And *petting* the dog -- 

"Ah," Tim tries. He thinks it's a very good try, as these things go -- 

"Hunh? Oh, yeah? Well, okay," Jay says -- *to the dog* -- and then turns to him. "Tim, Chester -- that's not his real name, Dog, I just -- oh, you knew that? My voice when I -- okay. That's B over there --"

And the dog -- *Dog* -- flops.

More.

*Bonily* -- 

"Okay, okay, I'm *getting* to --" 

Dog leans in and licks Tim's *face* -- 

More -- 

All *over* -- 

And Tim *knows* he's making a terrible noise, but -- 

"Hey, bro? She's just trying to make you relax --" 

"It's not working!" 

And then there's a tongue in his mouth. 

A dog -- or perhaps a Dog -- tongue -- 

Luckily, it doesn't last. 

Tim -- stops making noises. 

And presses his lips together. 

And squeezes his eyes shut -- wait, no, then he won't be able to see what the monster -- 

The dog, it's a dog, and the dog is female, and Jay is apparently very close -- 

Tim breathes -- 

"Hey, there ya go," Jay says, and grins. 

And... Dog. Grins? Maybe? 

Tim tries a smile ---

Jay winces.

Dog... moans.

"Maybe... don't do that?" 

Tim presses his lips back together and goes back to breathing, slowly and evenly -- 

And more slowly than that -- 

And more -- 

All right, he's calm -- 

And Clark is looking at him with *fond* amusement, as if Tim has never been *cuter* than he is in this moment, with an altogether excessively large dog on top of him and also Tim isn't sure how he feels about that expression. 

He narrows his eyes. 

Clark coughs and -- kisses a path down Tim's left leg to his foot, where he sucks Tim's big toe, kisses it -- 

And then he's dressed and across the *room* -- with Bruce, who is *also* looking at Tim fondly, though his fondness is for Jay, as well, and -- 

And there is *some* bemusement about the dog, which is a relief, because frankly Tim was beginning to wonder if he'd just *missed* something *vital* in all of his -- 

Well, it was stalking. 

So. 

He takes one more breath. "About... Dog?" 

"Hunh?" And Jay looks away from Tim's *throat* -- 

Which is something Tim realizes that he never wants Jay to *do* -- 

Too *late* -- 

Wait, no, he has important questions. "Ah. Yes. You... didn't have a dog. Before." 

Jay blinks at him. "Well, no. The All-Mother gave her to me --" 

Dog makes an ominous sound -- 

While moving on *top* of Tim -- 

*Ominously* -- 

And Jay holds up his hands. "No, you're right, you're right, what She really did was, you know, *ask* Dog if she wanted to, like, hang out with me and watch my back --" 

Dog makes a mollified sound -- 

It's still ominous. 

Tim keeps *breathing* -- 

"-- though I'm apparently the most ridiculously *annoying* seed -- uh, the plant metaphors are a thing," Jay says, and gestures incomprehensibly at Bruce -- 

Bruce inclines his head. 

"Anyway," Jay says, "Dog pointed out that I'd have to be respectful and shit -- and I totally *will* be." And Jay directs that *to* Dog -- 

Dog licks Jay's cheek. 

"Yeah? Well, cool. Are we set?" 

Tim blinks and waits for someone to say... something. 

Something pertinent. 

Something that would lead to there *being* more pertinent information for all of them to think about, and chew on, and -- 

And Dog is licking his chest. 

Slowly. 

Meditatively. 

"She likes you," Jay says, helpfully. Definitely -- wait. 

Tim licks his lips. "You're quite sure she's not just... tasting... me?" 

Dog makes a sound like a smaller dog being squeezed. Or -- 

Tim's really just assuming, but -- "Or... not?" 

Dog stops licking, lifts her -- massive -- head, and pants down into Tim's face. 

Incomprehensibly. 

Utterly, completely, *hopelessly* -- "Ah... Jay?" 

"Hunh? Oh, you totally need a translation, don't you?" 

Tim licks his lips -- patiently, he thinks -- "It's -- I must admit I'm wondering why you *don't* need a translation." 

"Oh. Hunh." And Jay looks thoughtful -- 

And then Clark is there again, *right* there, kissing Tim all over his face -- 

Oh, he could get *tired* of *giggling* -- 

_{You are the promise fulfilled, my fine one.}_

"Oh -- Clark --" 

Clark kisses his *mouth* again. "I'm afraid Lois is calling me about a -- well, she seems to be in the lair of a mad scientist --" 

"Clark," Bruce chides, "they prefer to be known as Luthor-Americans --" 

"Gonna punch you in the cock, B." 

"Noted --"

Clark clears his *throat* -- and he's wearing the Superman uniform. "If you'll all excuse me, I need to get there *before* she's injected with the hyper-enhanced testosterone that was given to the escaped gorillas -- ah, well, it's a long story... really a terrible drug --" 

Bruce hums. "I'm sure," he says, and kisses Clark's cheek. "Please. Return soon." 

And Clark's lips part for a moment before he smiles so *brightly* -- 

And then smiles at *him* -- 

"Yes, I -- yes," Clark says, and he's -- gone. 

And Jay's cracking his knuckles. "Admit it, you'd totally be hot for Lois if she was woolly all of a sudden." 

Bruce... leans casually -- openly, *nakedly* -- against what Tim is assuming is the closet door. "You're making assumptions." 

Jay snickers -- and turns to Dog. And him. "Lois Lane is this smokin' hot reporter for the Daily Planet. She -- wait, Tim, do you know?" 

"I... know she writes a lot of articles about Superman -- I've read them --" 

"Yeah, she's really cool, too. Taught me some *great* curses in Vietnamese. Like --" 

"Jay." 

"Heh," Jay says, and jerks his chin and Tim. "I'll tell you later. Anyway, Chester's had the hots for her *forever* -- like, since he was in *college* and shit -- and she *totally* gives him a taste every *once* in a while, but mostly she makes him suffer." 

Tim considers. This does fit with what Clark had told him about his relationships with older people -- 

*Including* Lois -- 

"Is she... nice? Ah. To other people?" 

"Well... no?" 

Bruce hums. "She's unspeakably cruel," he says. With *relish*. 

"I." 

Jay snickers. "I mean, people are *literally* afraid of her. Like, everywhere she goes." 

"And that's --" Attractive, he was going to ask, but he's. 

And there's. 

It's just that his mother *is* very beautiful, and she's always *been* very beautiful, and hadn't she -- 

Always -- 

("Listen very carefully, Tim: One day, you're *going* to be one of the most powerful men on the eastern seaboard -- or, if we all do precisely what we're supposed to do when and how we're supposed to *do* it, in the country. There will be... temptations before you as you age, and one of the things you will *not* do is make an ass of yourself -- and a *failure* of this *family* -- by falling into some pathetic little *affair* --") 

And she'd been talking about a *gay* affair, she'd known, she'd *known* -- 

And she'd hated him. She'd -- 

Or was it just contempt? He doesn't know. He -- 

("The *important* thing -- because you *are* wise enough to not need lessons repeated...") 

And she had smiled at him, and it *had* been a real smile, it *had* been -- 

("The *important* thing, son, is that even though you will *not* be... *dragging* the Drake name through the muck as you dally with every social-climbing little *creature* who hangs on your every word at the parties, you will have *options*." 

"Mother?") 

And she'd raised an eyebrow at him, curious *and* impatient, and the only way to respond to that was to think, to -- 

To *focus*, and -- 

("Do you mean... ah --" 

"Don't *stammer*, Tim." 

"Yes, Mother. I -- apologize. Were you speaking of me... using my attractiveness to manipulate others?") 

And *this* smile was so... so *rich*, so *fond*, so -- 

("You needn't sound so *confused* by the prospect, Tim. You're an attractive enough boy, *and* you're witty, *and*, most importantly, you're wealthier by the day. Women... *people* will be positively throwing themselves at you soon enough."

"Mother -- I --") 

Her eyes had *darkened* -- 

And Tim had swallowed. 

("Yes, I -- I suppose you're right, Mother --" 

"Of course I am, son. Learn to *use* your attractiveness -- every bit of it -- to get every bit of what you *want*." 

"Even though I won't be... acting on my attractiveness?" 

"Oh... especially then.") 

And his mother had *laughed* -- 

And she never *did* that --

And so Tim had laughed, too, and it had felt so good, felt so -- so *close* and -- 

Well, wasn't it familial? Wasn't it -- there was *intimacy*, that's what it means, that's what it *has* to mean, and his mother *is* beautiful, and she'd said -- 

She'd thought he could be *useful* back then, and this is just -- 

He doesn't always have to live without -- 

Except. 

Except that there's a voice in his mind which sounds like -- like Clark *pretending* to be Jay, and it's telling him that his mother was trying to sell him even then -- 

Or to teach him how to sell -- 

"Okay, see, I *was* all set to go with the idea that you had, you know, *finally* zoned out on all the fucking, which would totally be fair, but you're actually fucked-up. I can *smell* that." 

\-- himself. But -- what? 

"Well, actually, Dog can smell it. She's *letting* me smell it." 

Dog groans and -- rolls on Tim. Slightly -- 

*Thankfully* slightly, because Dog feels like approximately eighty pounds of fur, metal rods, and saliva --

Still on *top* of him -- 

"No? I *am* smelling him? And, like, reading the scents, too? Hunh. Cool." 

"You could consider telling us --" 

"No, shut up a sec, B, Tim's not right." 

Bruce hums *happily*, which is just *strange*, and -- 

And he can think about that, instead, about Bruce's and Jay's relationship, and how amazing and wonderful it was that Jay had just *known* how to -- to *please* Bruce -- no.

More than that. 

He'd known how to take Bruce from a state of arousal to *orgasm*, and -- had it even taken him two minutes? 

Tim had had his *mouth* on Bruce's *penis*, but Jay had practically just *brutalized* Bruce for a few seconds while *speaking* -- 

But of course Jay could speak to *him* just that way -- 

Jay could make him do any number of things if he -- 

Dog makes an ominous sound -- 

"Yeah, I know, but ya gotta admit it's a *nice* scent, girl. Wait, should I not call you that?" 

Dog makes an obviously *confused* sound -- 

"Well, it's like -- I mean, some people --" 

Dog shakes her head, flopping her long ears -- 

And large amounts of *saliva* -- 

All *over* Tim -- 

"Yeah? You don't think it's disrespectful, at all? Well, okay then. You'll let me know, right --" 

Dog bites Tim's *shoulder* -- 

"YAGH -- oh. Oh, that wasn't... a hard bite. But she's still -- biting --" 

"You should talk to her," Jay says so *earnestly* -- 

"Um." Tim stares at Jay. 

Jay nods encouragingly. 

Tim licks his lips -- and turns, as much as he *can*, to Dog -- 

Who has her very large head --

Somewhat bowling-ball-esque -- 

And also her teeth are extremely *sharp*, and even though they *aren't* breaking the skin, they *could* be -- 

"Uh... bro? You're still not talking to her." 

"Um. Um. Ah. Dog?" 

She looks at him. She -- she just... her *eyes* roll, and they're large, and brown, and -- 

"Ah..." 

"Keep going, bro, you're doin' fine." 

"You -- ah. Dog. Could you... not? Bite me?" 

Dog kind of -- *rumbles*, and it's a very *nice* sound when Bruce does it, but not when there are teeth -- very large and sharp canine teeth! 

And Tim had never really paid *enough* attention to the fact that his shoulder is that close to his throat -- 

And that was more of a *moan* than a rumble or a growl or -- anything. And... 

And Tim is stumped. He tries raising his eyebrows -- 

Dog stops biting him -- which is good! -- but then she starts licking him. 

A lot. 

A --

Lot. 

"Hey, that was *great*!" 

"Ah -- but -- what -- Jay, I --" 

"No, no, you *communicated*. And you totally *understood* each other." 

Tim blinks and tries to -- no, no. He will be clear. "I'm... not... positive about that?" 

"Uh... no?" 

And Dog stops licking and pulls back -- 

She's sitting on her haunches on Tim's *thighs*, and she's *huge*, and she's -- 

Well, that is an obvious look of bemusement. 

The question is whether Tim finds it obvious because he's getting better at this, or because it's the same look on *both* Jay's and Dog's faces.

Tim -- decides to take a breath. "I -- um. Wait." 

"We're waitin'." 

Dog pants. 

"Were we... ah. Does Dog respond... more? To unspoken communication?" 

Dog looks at Jay -- Dog looks at Jay very much like. Hm. 

"Ah... is she asking you if I'm an idiot?"

Jay opens his mouth -- 

Closes it -- 

And blushes. Which... 

Tim hums and sits up on his elbows while he *can*. "I believe I take *both* of your points. Ah... Dog," Tim says, and turns back to face her. "I'm not very... ah... familiar... oh. Are you Jay's familiar -- *yagh* -- and. You're going to lick me when I get things right. Aren't you." 

She licks him. 

Jay grins at him. "She's really nice, isn't she?" 

"I -- yes. Yes, she -- well. I don't *know* any other -- ah. I'm not. I've never had a --" He's not going to say the word 'pet', and not *just* because Dog had just lowered her giant *head* at him -- "Companion. Animal." 

Dog looks at Jay. 

Jay nods thoughtfully, but *frowns* -- 

And Bruce hums, shifting in his lean against the closet door and still... really very impressively naked. "You may remember the discussion we had --"

"Yeah, B, but you're fuckin' *psycho*!" 

"While I would never think to argue that --" 

"You're sayin' *Tim's* psycho?" 

"Ah." 

Bruce hums *again*, and it's abundantly clear that he's laughing uproariously somewhere under the skin. "I wouldn't dream of --" 

"B." 

Bruce clears his throat -- and that, too, is a laugh. "Many, many people who are raised without the companionship of animals --" 

"Aren't *crazy* --" 

"-- are *also* raised without the faintest idea of how to *develop* companionship with animals. Should the opportunity arise." 

Dog looks at *him* -- and for a moment Tim isn't sure what to *do* with, her big, brown eyes are... very soft. 

Very -- 

Very soft and -- 

("*Please* don't be pathetic, Tim.") 

And Tim doesn't wince -- 

Or flinch -- 

Or *anything*, but Dog is still biting his shoulder -- 

And Tim realizes -- "Is this -- ah. This is for your benefit?" 

Jay raises both of his eyebrows and obviously considers the question *deeply* -- 

While Dog is *biting* him -- 

"Well... yeah, mostly? I mean, Dog *definitely* wants me to pay attention to *you* right now, and how there's some bad shit going down in your head --" 

Tim -- jerks, not flinches -- 

"Yeah, see, that. What *is* it?" 

"I -- I -- could you go back to... explaining the other thing?" 

Jay frowns.

Tim swallows and -- swallows. "Please. I can't -- I can't. Right now." 

And Jay flares his nostrils -- and cups the back of Dog's neck. 

Dog makes an *angry* sound -- 

"No, I know, we'll take care of him *other* ways." 

"Ah. I don't -- I mean, you don't --" 

Dog pulls back and -- looks at him. 

"I... suppose I can shut up -- oh, God, you're licking me again --" 

"Hey, you're gettin' good at this *fast*!" 

"I --" 

"Anyway," Jay says, and turns back to Bruce. "It's pretty obvious that Tim doesn't wanna talk about his shit-stain parents --" 

"Oh, God --" 

"-- so I'm thinking we'll ease our way around these things, okay, B?" 

Bruce inclines his head. He -- 

That -- 

"Ah -- um. Jay?" 

And Jay turns to face him like -- 

Like it's perfectly normal to *discuss* other people in *front* of them -- 

*Both* Dog and Jay have their *eyebrows* -- 

Tim hadn't realized dogs *had* eyebrows -- 

Dog tilts her head to the side, and -- 

And, yes, it *does* already seem really, *really* strange that Jay doesn't do the same thing, which means -- 

Something.

It means something. 

Tim licks his lips. 

And takes a breath. 

"I think. I think... I want to put clothes on?" There, that was a reasonable sentence, even though his mother would've wanted him to be more *firm* -- 

He's not thinking about his mother.

He's not thinking --

Not right now. 

Even though Dog and Jay are *looking* at him -- 

And he can feel Bruce doing the same. Damned. Thing. 

And really, they wouldn't have to talk *around* him -- or *above* him -- if he talked about himself. Right? "I'm sorry --" 

"For what?"

"For -- ah. Needing time," Tim says, and smiles ruefully. "I believe you'd prefer it I didn't...?" 

"I... heh."

Dog licks him. 

"I -- thank you, Dog --" 

Dog licks him *again* -- 

And Jay pats his cheek. "You'll totally get used to that." 

Tim raises an eyebrow at him. 

"Mainly 'cause she'll keep doin' it, yeah." 

And that -- Tim hums a laugh -- 

And Bruce *shifts* in his peripheral vision -- 

"Yeah, *so* not surprised *that* turned you on. Fuckin' perv." 

"As you say," Bruce says, and then just goes right back to *observing* -- 

And Jay jerks his chin at Tim again. "Anyway, yeah, I like digging into things fast, usually. Ripping off the bandage, you know? It just works better for me -- especially since all the time I spent on the streets *not* dealing with my shit just fucked me up *hardcore* -- but I've figured out that not everyone is like that. I promise," he says, and raises his hands. 

And Dog... lies down. 

On Tim. 

"I -- all right. Thank you. And... ah... will she --" 

Jay points to Dog. 

Right. Tim turns to Dog. "I'd. I'd like to move...? Please?"

She looks at him. Somewhat... somewhat blandly. 

"Ah. Hm." 

Jay snickers. "Yeah, no, you're not goin' anywhere yet." 

"But --" 

"I don't make the rules, bro," he says, and rolls his head on his neck. 

Tim frowns -- 

Dog *presses* -- 

Tim coughs out his air -- "I -- please don't --"

Dog presses *more* -- 

"I'll stay!" 

Dog licks him. 

That -- "Am I being *trained*?" 

Dog gives Jay another *look* -- 

"Yeah, he's totally not used to familiars. I mean, *I'm* not." 

Dog moans. 

"Thanks, but, you know, I'd be a lot less calm about this stuff if the All-Mother hadn't, you know, *taught* me all that stuff." 

Dog settles again. 

Bruce -- hums -- 

And Jay's smile is sharp and somehow *wicked*. "Yeah, B...?" 

"I am, of course, entirely willing to listen to you speak -- at length, perhaps? -- about the time you spent in discourse with..." 

"A goddess, B...?" And Jay lengthens the words teasingly -- *tauntingly*, really. 

Bruce hums again. "Certainly, I've seen no evidence --" 

"B." 

"-- that the being you were conversing with --" 

"See, B, if I punch you in the cock? I *won't* suck it better later." 

"-- *wasn't* precisely who she -- She...? -- had presented Herself to be." 

Jay snorts. "*Fine*," he says, and falls back onto his own elbows -- and fanning one knee out to rest casually -- 

Openly -- 

*Casually* on Tim. It -- 

This is something else he can have. 

This is -- was he about to take it for granted? Or -- or *complain*?

He can't possibly do that. He can't possibly *ever* do that, because it's *Jay*, who wants to be with him, and touch him, and -- 

"-- maybe I wanna tell my *brother* all about it first," Jay says, and -- 

And he's *teasing* Bruce again -- that much would be clear even *without* the way he's sticking his tongue out between his half-bared teeth -- 

The way he's waggling his *eyebrows* -- 

The way Bruce is smiling with his *eyes* -- 

But he'd also meant it. 

He's *here*. He's -- 

He's *here*, and touching Tim, and he hasn't stopped, and he wants Tim to talk to him about -- 

About things Tim doesn't want to talk about, at *all*, but -- 

Other things, too. And maybe... "I'm... ah." Tim swallows and shifts slightly -- 

Dog also shifts, which is helpful, though Tim can't help but notice that the move ends with her pinning him even more effectively -- he'll deal with that later. For now... 

For now, he pulls on a teasing smile of his *own*, one he's thought of using with Clark -- 

To see if it would make Clark -- 

Well, do any of the *wonderful* things Clark *does*, or something different, but -- 

"Yes, Tim...?" And Bruce is smiling with more than just his eyes --

And *Jay* looks -- looks almost *eager* -- 

And there is no part of Tim that doesn't know that they want to play with him. So. He *sharpens* his smile, and looks at Jay from under his lashes -- 

Jay grins *broadly* -- 

"I, of course, would welcome any sort of conversation you'd like to have with me... brother." 

But Jay's expression -- quirks. 

And Dog lifts her head from Tim's chest and looks at Jay *curiously* -- 

Had Tim misjudged? The flirtatious playfulness had seemed so *timely*. It -- "Ah... should I apologize?" 

And Bruce -- chuckles. "Only for making Jay give some thought to the question of whether he wished to take up incest." 

Jay looks *queasy* -- 

Tim doesn't *flinch* -- 

And then Dog bites him. Again. 

"I! Would rather you stop that? Please? Dog?" 

"She totally can't, you know. It's how she makes sure I know you're freaking out," Jay says, rolling close and *hugging* him -- 

"You don't have to do that --" 

"Totally do." 

"No --" 

"Yep," Jay says, and -- licks his ear.

"Ah?" 

"Man, I'm gonna have to put some thought into *that*. The licking, I mean." 

"Ah... yes? And you don't have --" 

"Totally do, because you think I'm weirded out by you --" 

"You are!" 

"Really not," Jay says, and licks him -- several more times. "I mean, yeah, I probably *should've* given some thought to all the times I was calling you 'bro' while I was *molesting* you --" 

"Your spontaneity has always been moving --" 

"Seriously, B, it's like you don't *like* your cock or something." 

"It's true that I've occasionally had cause to disagree with --" 

"Nope, you're not allowed to talk anymore." 

"Hmm. As you say," Bruce says, and smiles at them *both*. 

"*Anyway*," Jay says, "when *you* called me brother -- and that was *fantastic*, and you've gotta do it all the time --" 

"But --" 

"Don't argue!" 

Tim narrows his eyes before he can think about it -- 

And Dog and Jay look at him. 

*Loudly*, but -- 

And then Jay grins and nudges Dog -- 

Dog moves to pin Tim's *legs* -- 

And Jay straddles Tim's waist and *grips* Tim's shoulders. "So you're not gonna let me push you around?" 

And that... "Ah. Hm." 

Jay raises his eyebrows. "I can make it worth your while..." And then he waggles his eyebrows. Again. 

"He truly can," Bruce says, and -- he is and *isn't* laughing under his voice. 

He's making a recommendation -- and mocking himself. For being utterly controlled by a fifteen-year-old boy? 

Because that *is* what they've been showing him, isn't it? All of it... all of it *designed* to help him grow used to this, all of this -- 

Which is *his* -- 

"'course, you could push *me* around, too. That's totally allowed." 

And then there are no thoughts in Tim's mind.

At all.

Just... Tim's very happy not to hear crickets -- he'd hate to be a cliche -- but the fact that there's *nothing* at *all* really is somewhat *disconcerting* --

Jay snickers -- loudly. 

"Would you *like* me to -- push you around?" Wait, was that a thought? 

He doesn't think that should count as a thought -- 

*Nothing* that happens while Jay is *grinding* his *hips* on *top* of him could possibly be a --

"Well, I dunno, bro. Depends on the... push." 

Tim stares. 

Jay waggles his eyebrows *again* -- 

"I --" 

"I mean... heh." And Jay licks his lips and *grips* Tim's shoulders -- 

And leans in -- 

And leans in *closer* -- "You could push me pretty far... brother." 

And Tim feels himself flush -- all *over*, just -- "I. Believe I see. The effect of that... word." 

And Jay grins *wetly*. "Yeah, hunh." 

"It. There's a certain... extra --" 

"Somethin', yeah," Jay says, and licks Tim's *mouth* -- 

And Tim's penis twitches... weakly. 

And painfully. 

The noise Tim makes -- well, it's a noise. 

Jay snorts. "Chester totally fucked you *out*." 

Tim opens his mouth -- 

Jay licks him *again* -- 

Tim's penis *twitches* again -- 

And Tim makes that noise.

Again. 

And winces. 

And Jay -- snickers. "He totally did," he says, and pulls back enough -- 

Enough to let Tim breathe -- 

"You should just admit it." 

"I don't -- I don't even know how to *measure* -- ah." 

Jay raises his eyebrows again. "The exact mathematical values of fucked-outed-ness...?" 

Tim -- doesn't scowl. It wasn't a facial expression that had done much for him when he was a child, and it's not going to do much for him now and -- 

And Jay is flaring his nostrils and *grinning* just like Tim had scowled *anyway*, which -- 

"That's -- not fair." 

Jay blinks. 

Oh -- he hadn't meant to say that aloud. But -- "Your senses, I mean." 

Jay blinks more -- 

Dog moans from somewhere around Tim's shins. 

"Yeah, no, Dog, I don't think he means *he* wants to smell *us* real good -- you don't, right?" 

Tim opens his mouth -- closes it and thinks about the question -- 

Jay massages Tim's shoulders and looks patient -- 

And Tim never wants anyone to *wait* for him, but also -- also, it's not a difficult question. "I don't -- ah. I'm sure your... powers? Abilities?" 

Jay manages to wag his head *while* nodding. 

"Well... yes. I'm sure they're wonderful for you --" 

"Pretty new and *weird* --" 

Dog makes a sound like a quiet, breathy bark that is nonetheless entirely *commanding*. 

"Well, okay, not *new*, but new in the sense that I'm noticing it --" 

She barks again -- 

"Paying *attention* to it, okay?" 

Dog rumbles. 

Jay nods and turns back to Tim with his eyebrows up. "You were saying?" 

"I --" He's having a conversation with someone who can have a conversation with a *dog* -- 

He's having a conversation with a *magic*-user -- 

With -- "Um. Are you. A demigod?" 

Jay blinks like that was actually a *surprising* question. 

*Bruce* is still smiling -- but he's doing absolutely nothing to hide his absolute *interest*, which --

Well, it makes Tim *feel* better, but also more scrambled. 

And more aware of just *how* odd the past several hours have been -- 

He thinks he might need to lie down. 

At some point.

*Alone* -- except that he can't even really finish *thinking* that thought before his mind fills with memories of his bed at -- 

In his parents' house -- 

And he should think of her as his *adoptive* mother, as -- 

And Dog is biting him again, *and* making a low sound -- 

"Got it, Dog," Jay says, and cups Tim's face -- 

And Dog resettles herself on Tim's legs -- 

And Tim tries to come up with something to say to -- to *derail* -- 

"You don't have to talk about it." 

Tim -- doesn't, doesn't make a sound. 

"You *never* have to talk about it with *me* if you don't want to," Jay says, and leans in and -- kisses Tim's forehead, hard and fierce and so -- so -- 

"Jay --" 

He pulls back enough to look Tim in the eye. "I'm not a demigod. I'm a witch. And kind of a dog? Person. Dog-person. Person-dog?" Jay shrugs. "Haven't figured that part out, yet. The important things are that you never have to deal with me -- for *anything* except *maybe* whatever training B thinks we should be doing together, but especially not for the emotional stuff -- and if me getting too doggy upsets you? Then you don't have to deal with that either --" 

Dog makes an obviously *unhappy* noise -- 

And Jay turns back to face her. "No, Dog, this is *important* --" 

Dog... stresses her point? Maybe? 

"No, I know, but he has to be *comfortable*. Like you said." 

She rumbles. 

"Uh, hunh. And, see, a lot of humans -- like *me* -- get freaked-out by this stuff, at least at first --" 

"I'll get used to it! I mean -- I -- all right, I'm not used to it, but I will be, and -- you don't -- please don't change your *behavior*!" And Tim knows he's *staring*, and that was -- was something of a *shout* -- 

Oh, God, Jay has his eyebrows up *skeptically* -- 

"I mean it! I mean -- ah. I do mean it," Tim says, as calmly as he *can*, because -- 

Jay is *narrowing* his eyes -- 

"Oh, Jay --" 

"You're totally worried about being -- heh. You think you're a burden." 

He doesn't flinch, but. He already knows that doesn't matter. 

It doesn't *matter* --

And so he might as well... talk. "I... yes. I don't want --" 

Jay grips Tim's shoulders *hard*. "Families? Work best when everyone gets what they need." 

Tim blinks. "Of course. And you have to --" 

"And *that* means that *you* get what you need, too." 

Tim -- swallows. 

Jay looks at him. 

"I'm. I'm." Tim shudders -- 

Jay *rubs* his shoulders. "I'm listening, bro." 

"I'm. Ah." And there's... a feeling -- 

"You can tell me *anything* -- or nothing --" 

"I want -- I *want*," Tim says, and he's -- God, he's *glaring* at Jay, and he doesn't want to *do* that -- 

Jay doesn't *deserve* that -- 

And there's a *feeling*, and it's warm, and it's -- 

And Clark isn't *here*, but he could be, he should be -- 

He *will* be, because he said -- 

And he *loves* -- 

And all of this -- 

All of it -- 

And he's making another *noise* --

"Hey --" 

"I'm *happy*!" 

"Uh." 

"I'm -- I *am*, and I'm not -- and you all have to just -- just stop and let me -- oh, God, I have to stop *talking*," and Tim does his best to get out from *under* Dog and Jay -- 

"We're totally not letting you go right now --" 

"*Please*!" 

"It -- I *can't*, bro --"

"I don't -- I don't want you to --" And then Tim gives up and covers his face, just covers his *face*, and he wishes he were in the Fortress again, because the monitor-servant always knew -- 

Always knew exactly how to -- 

Well, not *comfort* him, really, but there was time *alone*, and he would be warm, and not -- 

Not *pressed* -- 

Not *held* -- 

Until Clark was there, doing just that. 

Until. 

And Clark could always be quiet, and not -- not -- 

"Tim...?" 

"Nn --" Oh, that wasn't a *word*, and Jay had sounded so hesitant, so *worried*, and he has to -- 

Dog makes a *sound* -- 

And Tim pushes the heels of his hands against his eyes and just holds in, just holds *in* -- 

"Oh, my, oh -- dear," *Clark* says, and the air is filled with the scent of ozone and *smoke* -- 

"Welcome back, my companion."

"Yes, I -- one moment, or -- or perhaps you could all...?" 

And there's -- silence. 

And more silence, and *more* silence, and Tim wants to enjoy it, wants to wrap himself *in* it, but it's too much, too heavy, too *full* -- 

Are they all looking at him?

Do they know do they -- 

And then, suddenly, Dog and Jay are holding him -- 

Shoving him down against the bed so *hard* -- 

*Squeezing* and *biting* and -- 

And Jay stops biting his ear and kisses it, instead. "We're sorry we fucked you up, okay?" 

"It -- it -- I --" And Tim *can't* hold in this noise, this -- this fucking *noise* -- 

But that's Clark's hand slipping under his head -- 

*Cupping* the back of his head -- 

And Jay and Dog are pulling away -- 

And the scents of ozone and smoke are *stronger* -- 

And Clark is kissing -- the backs of his hands. 

Just there.

Just *there*, and --

And somehow it makes the silence... smaller. Or just different. Or -- 

"Nn -- I -- I don't." Well, that was a *failure* -- 

"Shh," Clark says, and his other hand -- 

So warm, so smooth, so *big* -- 

His other hand is on Tim's chest, and it lets Tim know that there's nothing else there, *no* one there -- 

And the silence isn't just smaller, it's -- warmer. 

And so, of course, Tim shivers. He -- 

He has to do better -- he drops his hands -- 

His *vision* is blurry -- wet. 

Wet. 

Tim doesn't make another noise. He just -- he just *wipes* his eyes -- 

*Gently* -- 

The way Clark would want him to -- 

And that makes him wonder why *Clark* isn't wiping his eyes -- 

He can't help *worrying* -- 

"Shh, fine one. It's all right," and Clark's using the soft voice, the right voice -- 

The perfect -- 

And Tim opens his eyes -- 

And Clark looks.

"Oh... um. Clark?" 

Clark smiles ruefully. His hair is almost as messy as Jay's always is, his face is streaked with blood and soot -- 

His *chest* is streaked with blood and soot -- 

The uniform is mostly -- 

The tattered remains of the cape fall off while Tim watches. 

Tim looks *down* -- 

Clark is down to his boots, and... portions of the tights. 

And of his briefs. 

And... a lot of soot. 

"I'm entirely all right," Clark says, and the rueful amusement in his *voice* -- 

Tim looks up -- 

Clark is smiling gently and warmly and -- 

"I love you," Tim *blurts* -- 

And Clark smiles -- wider. "Well. Now I'm even better," he says, and *winks* -- 

Which is -- 

It's *silly* -- 

And that's an excellent reason for Tim to be giggling right now. 

Clark sighs and pets him with the hand on his chest -- 

And *squeezes* the back of Tim's head -- 

"If you'd give me just a moment?"

"Of course --" 

But he's not finished speaking before Clark is back -- 

Smelling *only* of ozone -- 

Holding him on his lap -- 

Wearing *pajama* pants and holding him -- 

And *Tim* is wearing pajamas -- 

And they're against the headboard -- 

And it feels like being surrounded by Clark, by ozone, by the magic that had already started to make *sense* to him -- 

And Clark is kissing the top of Tim's head over and over again -- 

And squeezing him -- 

And murmuring in -- Tim isn't sure about the language. 

He *is* sure about the way Clark is -- urging. Gently. 

Tim smiles because it feels just as perfect as the *rest* of this, because it's *right* even though more *tears* roll down his face -- 

He smiles and pushes close. *Bundles* close, tucking his arms between his body and Clark's own -- 

Clark makes a soft sound of pleasure -- "I missed you." 

Tim blinks -- and considers. "Subjective time." 

Clark *hums* -- not unlike Bruce -- and kisses the top of Tim's head again. "To a certain extent. Mostly... mostly, it was the fact that this was the first time I'd left you *with* other people who could reasonably *entertain* you." 

Hm. "The monitor-servant is really a very interesting conversationalist --" 

"And rather a xenophobe." 

"Well -- yes." 

"And convinced -- especially -- of *your* proper role as my slave." 

And that... Tim looks up at Clark. 

Through his lashes. 

Perhaps *somewhat* pointedly -- 

And Clark sighs -- regretfully. "I must ask you *not* to do that while your eyes are still filled with tears, fine one. It really does encourage several of my very worst kinks." 

And that. 

Well. 

It's good to know that there are *multiple* things which can drive the thoughts -- the *self* -- from his mind. Right? 

Clark laughs softly -- breathily -- and kisses his temples. "You're too easy to scandalize." 

"I'm... sorry?" 

"No, *I* am. You must understand: I spent much of my life -- including my life as *Superman* -- being the one in your position." 

Tim raises an eyebrow. "On the lap of a large, perverse alien?" 

"Oh, yes," Clark says solemnly. "There's so very much you don't know about J'onn." 

This time, Tim's mind only -- skips. 

For a moment. 

Just. A moment. 

And then Clark is laughing and humming -- 

Humming a *laugh* -- 

*Hugging* him so *close* -- 

"Clark --" 

"I will never, ever let you go, my fine one," he says -- Kal says. 

And that's the same thrill as it always is, the same terrifying-strange-beautiful *rush*. More than the words, more than their *content*, more than their *truth* -- 

The man behind them. 

The man behind the *gently* glowing eyes focused on his own. 

"Kal," Tim says, and he's aware that he's always tasting it when he says it, *testing* it as much as simply using the name -- 

"All of me is yours -- I. No, I will not soften that." And his eyes are glowing slightly -- just slightly -- more. 

Tim licks his lips. "Does it... bother you? That I'm afraid of you?" 

Kal's smile is sharp, coiled, *hard*. All of his smiles are. "You're less afraid of me... mm. Every time." 

Which -- "Are you... gentling me?" 

Kal sighs -- 

And then *Clark* blinks and smiles ruefully, broadly -- 

*Softly* -- "You are not an animal, Tim," he says, and strokes Tim's lower lip. 

Tim raises his eyebrow *again* --

And Clark smiles wryly and shakes his head. "I will never agree with the AI's assessment of the matter, much to its eternal disappointment." 

Clark always, always calls the monitor-servant 'the AI'. 

Does he think of it that way? 

Is that -- 

Clark *presses* on Tim's lower lip. "Please ask every question."

Tim *looks* at Clark -- and remembers. 

And -- feels. 

And blushes. 

And Clark's smile, this time, is just as broad as it was before -- but not at all rueful. "I love you." 

"I want --" Tim bites his lower lip, just for a moment --

Just to *feel* the way the bite makes it pull against Clark's touch -- 

So *gentle* -- 

"Please tell me, Tim." 

Yes, yes -- yes. And Tim leans in to kiss the tip of Clark's finger -- 

Clark sighs -- 

And Tim looks up. "Sometimes I just want to... ah. Hm." He frowns at himself. "That... the thought in my head made a lot more sense... before it actually became a *thought*, I think." 

Clark raises his eyebrows. "Yes? You've confused yourself?" 

"I..." Tim blushes. "I found myself... wishing I could use you as some sort of pillow fort --" 

Clark *coughs* -- 

"Yes, I know --" 

"A *pillow* fort?" 

"Look, I -- it's not -- I did *say* it was strange -- *mm* --" 

And the kiss is firm and sweet and *fierce* -- and *becomes* messier and messier as Clark *laughs* at him. 

Tim pulls back and -- decides to let himself scowl. A little. 

And Clark laughs *more* -- 

"Clark --" 

"Oh, forgive me --" 

"*No* --" 

"It's only --" 

"You should -- you should make your explanation... good," Tim says, and sits *back*, crossing his arms. 

"Oh -- not that," Clark says, and makes *gathering* motions -- 

*Coaxing* motions -- 

*Pillow-fluffing* -- 

"I could learn to dislike you, Clark." 

"Ah -- hem. Please don't? Please don't," Clark says, forcibly -- if gently -- unfolding Tim's arms and pulling him close again -- 

Tim keeps scowling -- 

"Oh, you --" Clark sighs so *fondly* -- 

And kisses Tim all over his face. 

Multiple times. 

"Do you -- wait, do you *like* me in a bad mood?" 

"My fine one, my beloved one," Clark says, and *lifts* Tim high enough that he can stab Tim's suprasternal notch with his tongue -- 

"Glrb --" 

And Clark pulls back and *bites* Tim's throat -- 

"Oh, yes!" 

"Beautiful love, perfect --" Clark growls. "I like you -- I *love* you -- at all times, in all moods. I love you each and every moment of every *day*. I --" Clark growls *again* and sits Tim on his lap -- 

Spreads Tim's legs around his waist -- 

"You make me *dream*, Tim." 

"I -- but --" 

"And a moment ago...? With your talk of *pillow* forts? You made me dream of making love to the boy -- the *child* -- you *used* to be." 

"Ah." 

Clark laughs *deeply* -- "Yes, I assure you, my fine one -- it was a thought I did *not* see coming." 

Hm. "Are you quite sure about that?" 

Clark *coughs*. "*Tim* --" 

"How *exact* are you about your predilections, Clark?"


	9. There are worse forms of slavery. Wait, was that ominous?

"I --" 

"How close to the proverbial *vest* do you *play* it?" And Tim raises his eyebrow very, very high -- 

And Clark *pants* -- 

And Kal shows his teeth. "Would you like to play that game, fine one?" 

Oh. 

Oh, that... 

"Ah... which --

"No. Do not pretend you do not know whereof I speak."

Tim -- grunts. 

And Kal shows... more teeth. "Now. Answer me." 

"I. Ah. I'm still not... that young," Tim says, and feels his heart pound, his mind just -- just *flail* -- 

But. 

This is so much easier than thinking about everything else -- *everything* else. 

This is so much warmer, so much -- 

Clark wouldn't *do* this with him -- wouldn't *offer* this *to* him -- if he didn't want it. 

Want -- 

"Tim..." 

"You love me!" 

Kal growls and cups Tim's face with both hands. "I love all of my possessions, precious boy." 

"Oh my *God* -- that -- you -- that was so in-character! That -- there was no pause, no -- do you really -- I can't -- you -- oh, you're so *impressive* --" 

And Kal laughs and bites Tim's *lip* -- 

And Clark pulls back and *winks* -- 

And then Kal *flares* at him, bright and hot -- hot enough to *feel* across the small space between them. "Play with me, my fine one," he says, and his voice is so low, so hungry, so -- 

When Clark sounds like that, he's *pleading* -- 

But that was an order.

Tim -- moans. "I'm less afraid?" 

Kal inclines his head. 

Tim licks his lips. "I don't know. I don't know if I know *how* to be... a little boy."

Kal *cocks* his head to the side -- but it's an honestly thoughtful gesture rather than a tease. 

Tim waits -- no. Tim rests his hands on Kal's chest -- 

Tim *splays* his hands on Kal's chest -- 

They take up no space, at *all*, practically -- 

And Kal sighs. "Beloved one. How I would keep you. How I would *hide* you," he says, and nuzzles Tim's temple. 

"From -- from everyone?" 

"From everyone not my property. I... well. I could be convinced to share you with Roy..." 

Tim coughs -- 

And Kal laughs softly. "You have not had that fantasy...? I think I'm disappointed..." 

"*Oh* --" 

"Shh. Not truly --" 

"No, I -- I mean, of course he's *attractive* --" 

Kal's laugh is somewhat -- somewhat *explosive* -- 

"Oh -- you think I'm *backtracking* --" 

And Kal cups Tim's chin in his broad, strong fingers -- 

*Pins* him with his *glowing* gaze -- 

"Are you not...?" 

And Tim shivers -- he has to. There's no *choice* -- 

Just as there's no choice about the fact that he's starting to get *hard* -- 

Starting to *need* -- 

"Oh. Fine one..." And Kal flares his nostrils and shows the *edges* of his teeth. "Tell me. Tell me all your thoughts." 

"I. You're. A very arousing man." 

"I would always be so for you."

Tim moans -- 

"I *will* always be so... well. I suppose I shouldn't try to make that promise. But I will anyway. Tell me more. Tell me of my beloved *son*." 

"Your --" But the monitor-servant had shared that piece of information on the very first day -- when it was explaining Tim's *place* in Kal-El's household as *it* saw it.

Roy is Kal's property *and* his son -- *somehow*, and the monitor-servant was somewhat *suspiciously* unclear about that -- and -- 

And Tim is licking his lips. "I've... seen him with Dick." 

Kal shows more of his teeth. "So many have."

"I -- they aren't. They aren't subtle --" 

"No. They never will be. *What* have you seen?" 

Tim bites his lip -- 

"No," Kal says, and -- that's a command. 

Tim stops biting immediately. "Yes, Kal. I'm sorry --" 

"Shh. Tell me." 

Tim shivers and -- *presses* on Kal's pectoral muscles with his palms -- 

So warm -- 

So hard and *warm* -- 

Kal *smiles* at him -- 

And Tim smiles back. "I've seen them kissing... many times --" 

"How many." 

"Nineteen. Um. Well -- well, more like nineteen and a half. Or -- three-quarters? It's difficult to know how to count a kiss that was interrupted by them both turning to -- to *brutalize* a mugger --" 

Kal hums. "So very true. And did they kiss again after that...?" 

There'd been fog that night, and the Manhattan sky had been such a strange shade of *lavender*, and the mugger was gasping in pain -- Tim knew the gasps were because his ribs were broken -- 

At least three -- 

And Dick was laughing -- 

And there was blood on his left cheek -- 

And his smile was broad -- 

And his hair was mussed and lank with sweat on his shoulders, plastered to his forehead and bare throat -- 

And Arsenal -- 

Roy, he can call him Roy, he's *family* -- 

Tim makes a noise he can't *help* -- 

"Oh, yes, beloved one...?" 

"I -- I -- you've given me so much, Kal. All of you. And --" Tim shakes his head, and he knows his eyes are wide, and he knows he's panting, and he can't -- 

It's *impossible* -- 

"I can't. I just. It's hard to wrap my *mind* around it all --" 

And then Kal's hands are on his cheeks, warm and smooth and so *hard*. "Do not try." 

"Wh-what?" 

Kal smiles again -- 

Kal *kisses* him, hard and deep -- 

Kal lifts him, holds him -- 

Kal lifts him into the *air*, and they're spinning, and the kiss is even deeper, bending him back, and Kal is holding -- oh, Kal is holding his scrotum *and* his penis again, and -- 

"You make me feel so *small*!" 

And Kal smiles at him again. 

"I -- I hadn't realized -- we're not kissing -- oh." 

Kal licks his lips and *squeezes* -- 

Tim *whimpers* -- 

"What did you watch my beloved son do with Dick?" 

Tim pants and *stares* -- 

"Tell me now, fine one. Beloved one. I must know everything." 

Tim moans and nods and *clutches* at Kal -- and only then realizes that his arms are around Kal's neck, that he's *scratching* Kal's neck -- "Oh, Kal --" 

"Shh. Now." 

"Yes, I apologize, I just --" And Tim shakes it off and smiles. "Roy -- pushed Dick back against the alley wall." 

Kal smiles with parted *teeth* -- "Hard?" 

"Hard enough -- ah. To make Dick trip over the mugger -- the mugger made a very loud noise --" 

"And Roy kicked him." 

"Yes! Oh. Oh, you *know* him -- of *course* you know him, and -- and --" Tim shivers and leans in to kiss Kal -- 

To kiss him *several* times -- 

All over his face -- 

Kal *chuckles* -- 

"I'm so grateful!" 

"Everything is yours, fine one," Kal says, and he's whispering in Tim's ear -- 

Breathing so *hot* against it -- 

"Just as you are mine." 

Tim moans -- "Yes -- yes, I am --" 

"Tell me more about my son." 

"Yes, Kal," Tim says, and presses *closer* -- 

"Good, good boy," Kal says, and *grips* him -- 

Grips his neck and his *genitals* -- 

"More." 

"Roy -- Roy kicked the mugger out of the *way* --" 

"How many kicks...?" 

"Thr-- no, four. The first wasn't very hard --" 

"He was laughing...?" 

"Oh -- oh, yes --" 

Kal bites Tim's ear -- 

*Massages* Tim's genitals -- 

So -- 

"Oh, *Kal* --" 

"I promised to make you lose consciousness..." 

Tim *grunts* -- 

"Keep speaking." 

Tim *pants* -- and buries his face against Kal's strong throat -- 

*Powerful* -- 

*Thick* -- 

And Kal hums. "Yes, that's... perfect. Go on, beloved one," he says, and squeezes *hard* -- 

Tim cries *out* -- 

And Kal relaxes his hand -- 

"Dick was panting!" 

"While he watched Roy brutalize the mugger?" 

"Yes -- yes --" 

"*Dick* had done the lion's share of the brutalization beforehand, correct...?" 

"Oh. Yes. It -- it was almost as if Roy was *performing* for Dick --" 

Kal laughs softly and nuzzles him. "He was. More." 

Tim moans. "Yes -- yes, Kal. Dick was... *gripping* the wall. Leaning -- almost sprawled --" 

"Roughly in the position where Roy had thrown him?" 

Tim moans *again*. "I -- I... yes..." 

"You're fantasizing more than you were," Kal says, and Tim can hear a smile in his voice. 

"You can... tell?" 

"I can smell it, my fine one." 

Tim *blinks* -- 

And Kal laughs again -- and scrapes his *teeth* on Tim's *temple*. "The scent when you dream is distinctive. The scent when you dream of sex is even more so." 

"Oh --" 

"*I* dream that one day, I will know you so well that I'll know *what* you dream of in these moments..."

"Without... me telling you?" 

Another laugh... "Would you hide from me, my fine one...?" 

Tim *swallows* a moan -- but. "That. That isn't allowed." 

Kal's *breathing* hitches -- for a moment. "That is precisely correct. You must never hide from me. Not ever." 

"Please." 

"Shh," Kal says, and squeezes his genitals again -- 

"Oh --" 

Again -- 

"Oh, please --" 

*Hard* -- 

And Tim shouts, biting it into Kal's throat -- 

Kal's smooth-hot-perfect skin -- 

Shouts and *keeps* shouting, because the squeeze *lasts* -- 

He's *shaking* -- 

And Kal can do anything to him, at any time. 

Kal is -- 

Kal *is* his owner, perhaps even more than he's *Roy's* owner, and -- 

And Kal, perhaps, takes such things even more seriously than Clark does. 

Kal would, perhaps, sometimes even be *Kal-El*, the man the monitor-servant wants him to be -- 

The man who owns *slaves* -- as opposed to people.

And that. 

That makes Tim's mouth fall open, makes him moan liquid and hoarse and -- and *animal*, loud, *hungry* -- 

"Oh... good boy," Kal says, and that's a purr, that's -- 

Kal is so *pleased* with him -- and that means he's pleased with what he can *perceive* about Tim. 

The scent of his arousal. 

The scent of his... surrender? 

Tim pulls back enough to meet Kal's *burning* gaze -- 

"Tell me," Kal says, without even a *moment's* hesitation -- 

"I -- I have a question." 

And Kal *bares* his teeth, so -- "Then ask, beloved one." 

"Am I -- am I Kal-El's slave?" 

"Yes." 

Tim gasps and *grunts* -- 

And Kal *grins* -- "I was going to say: Only if and when you wished to be so. But you have answered that question well." 

*Fuck* -- 

Oh, that -- 

"Please, I --" 

And then Tim is on his back on the bed --

And Clark's eyes -- *Clark's* eyes -- are blue and soft and gentle and *safe*. 

"Beloved one. Fine one. All is well." 

Tim pants and stares and tries to -- 

*Tries* -- 

No. No. "I... was I frightened?" 

Clark smiles so warmly. "Not much as these things go... but enough to pause me at *this* moment. You must understand: While I will never let you go, while you will always belong to me, while you will always be *mine* --" 

"I -- won't always be your slave?" 

Clark smiles even *more* broadly. "Exactly so. I am not always Kal -- and I am certainly not always the Kal-El who *agrees* even *partially* with the monitor-servant, Tim. Remember: you will always be safe with me." 

And his *heart* is pounding -- "The definition of safety... will change?" 

"Such things always do. This is... hmm. The way of the world?" And the light in Clark's eyes is almost *dancing* -- 

"You. You're so beautiful," Tim says, and he knows he sounds wrong, sounds -- *mournful* -- "I don't mean to --" 

"Shh. You're perfect. I am never happier than I am when I'm with you." 

Tim gasps -- 

"I figured that out," Clark says, and kisses Tim's forehead *softly*, "very recently," and then he kisses Tim's nose. "In fact, it was while you were biting my," and then he kisses a collar across Tim's throat, "throat..." 

Tim shivers -- 

"I will not be without you, my fine one." 

"Yes -- please --" 

"I am, of course, not monogamous, and you... mm. We will take great pleasure in that together," Clark says, and kisses his mouth so -- 

Deep and hard -- 

Deep and *wet* -- 

Deep and *sweet* -- 

He pulls back -- "When I order Roy to fuck you, I will make him do it very, very hard, indeed." 

Tim *whimpers* -- 

"Oh... how I love that sound," Clark says, and sighs before *sucking* Tim's Adam's apple -- 

"Glk --" 

"And that one, too, of course --" 

Tim laughs *helplessly* -- 

"Oh -- and we can't forget that one --" 

"*Clark* --" 

And Clark kisses him *hard* again -- and briefly. "Beloved one, we will have everything we wish. Everything we *desire*." 

And Tim just -- 

He *stares* up at Clark -- no.

He reaches up to *hold* Clark, to show him -- 

He strokes Clark's face -- 

Pets his *hair* and -- and *musses* it -- 

Clark smiles so *happily* -- "I love you," he says, quiet and soft and *perfect* -- 

Tim smiles back. "I love you, too. And I'm yours." And he's proud of himself for not stumbling over that, not *stammering* -- 

But it's even better to see the happiness *growing* in Clark, to see him flush and smile and -- 

"What are you thinking?" 

"I've just had... hmm.... eight different fantasies about you." 

Tim blinks.

"About us, truly." 

"I --" 

Clark presses his fingers to Tim's lips. "I'll tell you. But first...?" 

Tim blinks *more* -- and blushes as Clark pulls his fingers away. "I apologize --" 

"For letting me arouse you? Distract you? Please you beyond your capacity to think critically?" 

Tim opens his mouth -- and then closes it, purses it, and raises an eyebrow. 

"Oh... yes, beloved one?" 

"Would Kal want an apology?"

Clark sighs *luxuriantly* -- 

*Thrusts* against Tim -- 

Tim grunts and *flexes* -- 

"Please --" 

But he's cut off by his own gasp when Kal's eyes start burning down at him again -- 

When Kal *smiles* -- 

So *possessively* -- 

"Beloved one..." 

"Yes. Yes, Kal..." 

Kal sighs and touches his tongue to his upper lip. "You should apologize for every time you don't obey me immediately." 

Tim moans -- "I'm sorry, Kal." 

Kal *wets* his upper lip -- just his upper lip. "For...?" 

"For. For not obeying you immediately. For every time I -- didn't obey you immediately." 

Kal narrows his eyes and *pants* -- "And for not sharing every part of yourself with me?" 

"Oh -- yes, Kal --" 

"And for not... giving yourself to me immediately?" 

Tim moans again -- 

"Faster." 

Tim *whimpers* -- and he can't stop himself from arching. "Yes, Kal. I -- yes," he says, and his eyes are wide, and his mouth is open -- 

He's panting -- 

He's *staring* -- 

And Kal licks his lips. "Tell me about my son." 

"Oh -- oh. I saw -- I saw him with Dick more than once --" 

"Yes, shh. The alley, beloved one. He had thrown Dick against the wall." 

"Yes --" 

"He was brutalizing a criminal to arouse Dick." 

"Yes --" 

"His... brother," Kal says, and smiles while Tim moans. 

"Do -- does that arouse you --" 

"Oh, yes, beloved one. And sometimes they perform *for* me." 

Tim gasps -- 

"I'll show you; I promise. All is yours. Now tell me." 

"Yes, Kal," Tim says, and licks his lips, gripping the sheets to ground himself -- no. He reaches up to hold Kal's shoulders, and he stares into Kal's burning eyes, and he says: "Roy painted Dick with the blood on his cheek." 

"Yes...?" 

"It was -- there was no pattern --" 

"He wouldn't. He takes such things very seriously." 

Tim blinks -- "I... yes?" 

Kal smiles. "Roy, despite his appearance, is of partial Navajo descent. The spiritual traditions of all Native Americans -- of all *peoples*, truly -- are things he tends to treat with great respect." 

The Roy in Tim's mind is taking a beer from a cheering -- and leering -- groupie at the scene of a hastily-averted hostage situation -- 

And taking his phone number -- 

After taking the phone number of the chief hostage negotiator the police had sent -- 

And Kal's smile turns wry. "That seems difficult to understand...?" 

"I. I don't know him," Tim says -- 

*Equivocates* -- 

But he can't do that with Kal -- he can't. "I -- no. I'm surprised. By -- that. He didn't seem like someone who took... spiritual things seriously." 

Kal hums and *grinds* against Tim's leg -- 

"Oh, please --" 

"Shh."

"Nnh -- yes, Kal," Tim says, and licks his lips. 

And waits. 

And breathes and *waits* -- 

Kal inhales deeply and *hungrily* -- "Beautiful. I..." And Kal laughs softly. "I believe I'll ejaculate all over you..." 

"Oh, God --" 

"Soon." 

"Y-yes, Kal --" 

"But first, a lesson," Kal says, and *burns* at him -- 

Tim *moans* -- "Yes, Kal!" 

Kal licks his lips again. "Good boy. You must remember that you are entering a community of people who, for all their good qualities -- and those qualities are legion -- spend the vast majority of their public lives lying about who they are."

Tim blinks. "I -- oh. That... that would..." 

"Yes, my fine one?" 

"I... I'm deceptive as a matter of course. Even when I don't want to be. Even when I'm trying *not* to be... because of all the time I've *had* to spend being deceptive. And... this is... common?" 

Kal inclines his head. "It takes a remarkable person indeed to maintain a fundamental degree of honesty under such conditions. To maintain a self which is *true* to all -- or nearly all -- observers, even when they are not working to *be* true." 

Tim nods thoughtfully. "And... so I must assume that the Roy I've seen was *not* true. Even though he seemed... ah. I don't know how to put it." 

"He seemed real to you, my fine one. He seems real to *everyone* -- because, in truth, he *is* real. Mostly," Kal says, and smiles sharply. "What the world sees when they look at my beloved son is not a *terrible* lie." 

"But it's still a lie -- to a certain extent." 

Kal inclines his head. "There are many reasons why so very many of us are madly in love with Dick and Jay -- as I'm sure you've guessed -- but one of them is their frankly near-mystical ability to remain precisely who they are at all times, in all situations, no matter what pressures they're under." 

Oh... "Dick. Dick was very aroused. When he was looking at Roy." 

Kal smiles. "Of course. Roy was performing for him." 

"Hurting... ah. I don't think -- I mean. The violence at that point was... unnecessary." 

"Such things arouse Dick -- and Jay, and Barbara, and Roy, and *very* many other people in our community -- quite a lot." 

Tim moans. "And... you?" 

Clark winks -- and Kal burns. "Parts of me," he says, and presses *firmly* on Tim's cheekbone with two fingers. "More." 

"Roy. Roy gripped. Dick's throat. It -- I -- it was so bare." 

"Oh, yes. More."

"He squeezed and." Tim shivers -- 

"More." 

"Dick made... he looked... hurt." 

Kal pants *slowly* -- twice. "Physically?" 

"No, I -- I -- emotionally. I was. I was very hard -- and confused." 

"Yes? You thought... no, tell me." 

Everything -- "It's like you're -- you're *making* me talk, and -- it's all so much *easier*!" 

Kal smiles. "Good. I only want you to work when... well. You'll see." 

Tim shivers and moans -- "Yes, Kal. I -- I was confused, because it seemed like Roy was -- was doing the *wrong* thing, and I could think -- I could only think that I would *never* hurt Dick if I. If I had the chance to touch him --" 

"You will." 

Tim hears himself make a *strangled* noise -- 

"He will make you his -- other -- brother. And then he will make you his own." 

"Oh -- oh, Kal --" 

"He is a hungry man, my fine one. As hungry, in some ways, as Bruce is." And Kal smiles again. "But far more honest about it." 

Tim whimpers --

And Kal leans in to lick into and *into* Tim's ear. "Hungry for friendship." 

"Yes, I --" 

"Hungry for companionship." 

"I would. I would always --" 

"Hungry for brotherhood." 

Tim *pants* -- 

"Take it, my fine one. Take *everything*." 

Tim licks his lips. "I -- please. I have to *see* him --" 

"Want it...?" Kal hums. "That's entirely fair. I could show you this thing right now. He is alone in his room in the Tower, napping. Dreaming, perhaps, of making love -- his heart is beating in a very familiar rhythm to me. I could take you to him, and wake him... but I will not. Yet."

Tim shivers. "I -- I -- why not?" 

"Because you are mine to take in this moment, my fine one. Mine to pleasure, and be pleasured by. Mine to *work*," Kal says, and pulls back -- 

"Please no -- *oh* -- *ohn* --" 

And Kal is *grinding* against Tim's groin --

Thrusting and -- and *moving* -- 

So -- 

"Oh, please, you're so *hard*!" 

"Make me harder, my fine one." 

Tim reaches for Kal's penis immediately -- 

"Hands *down*." 

Tim grunts and grips the *sheets* -- 

"Good boy. Now tell me of Roy. Tell me how he... eased your confusion." 

Tim *moans* -- 

And he's there again, *right* there in the dim and illegally smoky little coffee shop across the *street* from Dick's and Roy's alley -- 

All but pressed to the *window* -- "Dick -- Dick said 'please' --" 

"Could you hear him?"

"No. I -- I was across the street. In a coffee shop. There was music playing --" 

Kal hums. "No wonder they missed you," he says, and strokes Tim's face. "Clever boy." 

Tim flushes -- 

"More." 

"Roy. I -- I think he asked Dick what. What he was begging for. I couldn't tell -- his head was tilted, and his hair hid... um. But. There was something about his expression." 

"Yes...?" 

Tim licks his lips. "He was teasing. It was." And Tim flushes *harder*, all *over* -- "It was the way you tease," he says, in a *small* voice. 

And Kal narrows his eyes. "Was it." 

"Yes. Yes, Kal." 

"What did Dick do?" 

"He." Tim swallows. "He -- bucked. And I." 

"Don't stop." 

"I realized. I realized that I wanted. To. That I would. That I wanted someone to... do that. To me." 

And Kal's smile is *bright*, amused, *quirked*. "But *not* my beloved son...?" 

"I. I couldn't imagine him wanting... um." And Tim *knows* Kal doesn't want him to look down -- 

He can *feel* it -- 

And he -- keeps himself from doing it. But it's hard. 

And Kal sighs thoughtfully and nods. "If he could have Dick at his beck and call, why would he have you?" 

"Yes, Kal." 

*Clark* raises an eyebrow. "I would hope we've given you *something* of an answer to that question...?" 

Clark's arms around him -- 

Bruce's *hums* -- and hard, rough hands on him. 

Jay's *growls* -- 

Jay's kisses and touches and -- 

And -- 

"It's. Um. A lot." 

Clark hums. "And some of us lack the... buffer of subjective time. Noted, my fine one," he says, and inclines his head -- and when he raises it Kal is burning at him again -- 

"Oh --" 

"Roy is my son. My slave. My boy. My *property*. Just like you... in some ways." 

Tim moans and *claws* at the sheets. "Yes. Yes, Kal --" 

"Would you not love to serve me, my fine one?" 

Tim's jaw *drops* -- 

"Would you not... mm. Would you not *live* to do so?"

"I -- I --" 

"Would you not crawl, naked on your knees, and lay yourself low for whatever worthy -- and they would all be worthy -- I chose for you?" 

Tim can't *classify* the noise he makes -- 

And Kal chuckles low. "Would you not ache with each and every fiber of your beautiful being to have them, and please them, and *know* them?" 

"I -- please, I --" 

"To make them your own? As I have made *you* my own." 

And Tim -- stares. There is -- 

There's something like a *vista* opening up before him -- *another* one -- because the last few weeks have really been one after another after *another*. There is, with Clark -- and Kal, and possibly *everyone* within him -- and endless unfolding of possibility. 

A -- a tesseract of -- 

"Tim." 

Tim inhales sharply and tries to *think* -- but. 

Does he really have to? 

The answer to this -- 

The answer to so *many* of the things which have confused him -- which have *hurt* him -- have turned out to be simple. *Mind*-bogglingly so. And this...

This is no different. 

And so Tim straightens his posture as best as he can, considering the fact that he's flat on his back -- 

And he takes a deep breath -- 

_{This one lives only to serve, Kal-El --}_

Kal *grunts* -- 

_{All will be as you decree.}_

And for a moment Kal only stares at him -- or. Is it Clark? 

Clark Kent? 

Someone else? 

Tim doesn't *think* it's *Superman* -- but how would he know? 

And -- 

"Was it -- was it wrong?" 

And then Kal -- and it can only *be* Kal -- narrows his eyes. "There is nothing about you that is incorrect, or ill-made, or ill-favored," he says, and that was a *growl*. "There is nothing about you that speaks of anything -- *anything* -- but beauty, perfection, and superiority." 

"Oh. I. Kal --" 

Kal bares his *teeth* -- "And my own superiority for making. You. *Mine*." 

Tim's penis twitches *violently* -- 

"Oh -- yes. Almost, my fine one. Almost." 

"Yes. Yes, Kal --" 

"I should've known the monitor-servant would teach..." And he laughs softly. "The things it chose to teach *Roy* when I was not present to *leash* it... well. Perhaps you'll find still more pleasant ways to surprise me." 

Oh -- "I hope so," Tim says, and smiles helplessly -- 

"My fine one. Give me... yes," Kal says, kneeling up and taking his penis in hand -- 

So big --

So *hard* -- "Would you watch me stroke it...?" 

"Yes -- yes, please!" 

Kal laughs almost *evilly* -- "Then please me. Tell me how you ached as you watched my son please *Dick*." 

Tim whimpers and *squirms* -- 

Kal is kneeling between Tim's *legs* -- 

Tim spreads them wider -- 

And Kal smiles *fiercely*. "Good boy. *Now*." 

"I was -- I was very hard --" 

"What were you wearing." 

"I -- sturdy jeans. Boots. A long-sleeved t-shirt that... that was also... um. Long. And a hooded sweatshirt." 

"Dark colors...?" 

"Grey and... and blue. Actually." 

Kal laughs *richly*. "You shouldn't make me long -- more than I already do -- to adorn you in *my* colors, my fine one."

Tim thinks of himself in Superman's colors -- 

Tim *tries* to think of himself in -- 

Tim tries not to *wince* -- 

And Kal laughs more and strokes himself -- slow and easily. "Not to worry, beloved one. I *am* enamored of just a few *different* shades of red, blue, and gold."

"Oh, I --" 

"As you would know if you... hmm. Paid *attention* to Arsenal's uniform." And Kal smiles. 

And Tim *blinks* -- 

And Kal smiles more. "I am not immune to the call of aesthetics, fine one... just as Superman is not immune to the call of political expedience." And Kal's eyes are brightly *burning* -- 

But there's still a *lesson* in them. Something Tim is *supposed* to catch -- and answer. "I -- yes, Kal. It... would probably be problematic for Superman to look very... um... aggressive." 

Kal laughs softly and squeezes himself -- 

And lets his breath catch -- 

And *hot* pre-ejaculate *drips* on Tim's abdomen -- 

"Oh --" 

"Superman... mm. Superman must not even be particularly fashionable, my fine on. It's worrying to many -- to many in *power* -- when he says or does anything which implies an affinity to the young." 

Tim raises an eyebrow. "And thus, presumably, to the liberal?" 

Kal inclines his head. "Perhaps even to the dangerously... mm. Socialistic. Or Marxist. Or Anarchic," he says, laughing more and stroking faster for a long moment -- "It's -- nn. Hard to keep track of human fears, at times." 

Tim shivers. "Like mine?" 

Kal shows his teeth. "Your fears are my obsessions, my fine one. Never fear about *that*. How hard *were* you." 

"I -- ah. Very. And --" 

"Were you staining your... mm. Did you always run the rooftops in briefs? You did *that* night." 

Tim doesn't squirm -- no. He does. He *lets* himself. 

And Kal studies him hungrily -- 

"I -- it depends on." And then Tim blushes *hard*, but -- but he can't stop. He *won't* stop. "I'm. Embarrassed." 

Kal parts his lips -- "I can taste it. Continue anyway." 

Tim moans -- "Yes, Kal. I would. I often watched Jay make love to... to his classmates --" 

"Girls. Only, only girls." 

"Um. Yes --" 

Kal smiles. "You would, perhaps, be *less* surprised now to know how very many of the ones who gained... hmm... repeat performances bear similarities to you." 

Tim -- stares. 

And Kal laughs and *shakes* his penis, *spattering* Tim's abdomen -- 

Tim grunts -- 

"More." 

"I saw him -- he wears boxer-briefs all the time --" 

"Because Bruce saw him admiring his own." 

"*Oh* --" 

"Which he began wearing because Dick thought it would work better for Brucie Wayne's cover -- and because Dick himself had extolled their comfort while quite, quite obviously *hoping* Bruce would... take a hint," Kal says, and smiles. 

Tim goes back to *staring* -- 

*Imagining* -- 

Dick wears *briefs* on the *street* -- 

Kal laughs again. "This, of course, would not have happened, at all... were it not for a conversation between *Barbara* and Dick one night when Dick was... oh... perhaps fourteen?" Another laugh and he *squeezes* his penis. "She told him that boxer-briefs were far, far more sexually attractive than any of the alternatives." 

Tim *swallows* -- 

"And then she leaned in -- so very close -- and asked him what he was wearing under his... shorts." 

Tim blushes *for* Dick -- 

"Yes, that is an *excellent* impression of how he would've looked, I believe," Kal says, sighing and stroking -- 

And *stroking* -- 

Baring his *teeth* again -- "I spanked Barbara *very* hard for that..." 

Tim *squeaks* -- 

And Kal smiles at him. "And then I bit her reddened cheeks until she sobbed for me -- and only for me..." 

"You -- you -- oh --" 

"And then I wet my penis in her vagina -- she was wet for me, my fine one. Dripping as *you* drip. Precious human." 

"I -- don't. I've never. I can't --" 

"Shh," Kal says, moving back just enough that when he lowers the tip of his penis, he *can* drag it against Tim's -- 

Tim *moans* -- no, he bites his lip -- 

"Yes -- yes, just like that," Kal says, and pants once. "I took her vagina... briefly." 

Tim nods and pictures -- 

Pictures *Batgirl* -- 

Was she on her hands and *knees*? 

And Kal laughs again. "She cried out for me..." And he licks his lips. "Just as you do." 

"*Nnh* --" 

"Just as *rhythmically* as you do... and I did give her a rhythm. Briefly." 

Tim -- Tim fights back a *whimper* --

He doesn't know what to *do* with these images -- 

Of -- was her hair tangled? Sweaty? 

Did Kal *grip* it? 

Did he -- 

"I -- oh... precious fine one. She begged, of course..." 

"Of -- I'm sorry!" 

Kal laughs again -- *and* shows his teeth. "Perhaps I should let you speak...?" 

Tim -- Tim *waits* -- 

"Will you protest...? Or will you take everything I give you?" 

Oh, that -- there's no *question* -- but. He *had* started to protest. He'd -- Tim inhales shakily and tries to adjust his posture again, even though he's still on his back. "I'm sorry, Kal. I'll take everything." 

Kal licks his lips -- 

Narrows his *flaring* eyes -- 

"Then ask your question." 

"I. It's only. I *never* picture her begging." 

Kal laughs again and *rubs* the head of his penis against the underside of Tim's -- 

Tim whimpers and *twitches* -- 

"You don't picture women in your fantasies, at all. Do you." 

Tim -- doesn't flinch. That wasn't an *accusation*. "No, Kal."

Kal hums -- "It will not be a failure -- for either of us -- should that never change. Do you understand, my fine one?" 

And that... "Sometimes. Sometimes you make... um. Worlds. Open. Inside me." 

Kal *pants* -- "Do I." 

"Yes. And -- and yes. I do understand -- *HNH* --" 

And Kal is gripping their penises *together* -- 

"You -- you're so *warm* --" 

"There are times when I would only burn you, my fine one..." 

"Oh -- oh, Kal --" 

"There are times when I would live in the rising smoke of your *spirit*... but don't let a magic-user know that I ever said that aloud. You never know what they'll make *happen*." 

And Tim *giggles* -- 

Kal squeezes *hard* -- 

"*Nuh* -- oh -- *Kal* --" 

"She begged again, precious boy..." 

"Yes -- oh -- all your lovers *would*!" 

Kal shows his teeth again. "Oh, yes...?" 

"It -- it seems so obvious now!" 

Kal *purrs*. "Good. I pulled *out*." 

"No --" 

"And then I spread her buttocks and entered her *roughly*." 

Tim -- oh, that was a *squeal* -- 

Kal laughs darkly. "Barbara likes her toys, my fine one. She has... mm. Quite a collection. Over and above what I -- and Clark -- have *crafted* for her." 

And the images for *that* are -- too much. Too *vivid*, because of course he's wanted sex toys of his own, of course he's *shopped* for sex toys of his own -- 

There are so many *sites* -- 

So many *stores*, and of course most of them sell the same sorts of things in the same sorts of shapes -- even in the same sorts of *colors* -- but some of them are different. 

Some of them are strange, or incomprehensible even with the descriptions *and* a good background in human anatomy -- 

And what would Kal have *made* for her? 

What would *Clark* have made?

And if he pushed in -- 

*Thrust* in -- 

Tim swallows and -- and lets himself *squirm* more -- 

He knows Kal *likes* it -- and Kal lets him *see* him liking it, because there's a light sheen of sweat on his perfect golden skin now, and an actual *droplet* of sweat on his lip -- 

He licks it *off* -- 

"Perhaps I'll let *her* have you..." 

"*Oh*!" 

"Perhaps I'll craft a toy just for *you*... that's perfectly-sized for her small, powerful hand," Kal says, and *smiles* -- 

"Oh, Kal -- I don't -- I don't know if I could --" 

But Kal raises an *eyebrow* -- 

And Tim knows that he *absolutely* could. That even if, after it was over, he was *still* reasonably sure that he was entirely homosexual -- 

That he was more interested in *being* Batgirl than making *love* with her -- 

That this was *strange* -- 

Even with all of that, it would still be... incredible. 

He doesn't know if *Barbara* is Kal's property -- or. But he *can* know that! "I -- have a question." 

"Ask, my fine one," Kal says, stroking a path down the center of Tim's chest with his free hand -- 

"I --" 

And then Kal *twists* Tim's right nipple -- 

"Oh, *yes*!" 

"Ask now." 

Tim whimpers and tries to *remember* his question -- Barbara. "Is she -- is Barbara -- yours?" 

Kal laughs. "No, beloved one." 

Tim blinks. "Oh." 

"That surprises you. I'm flattered -- and even more aroused," Kal says -- and then his penis *jerks*, flexing against Tim's own and spattering them *both* -- 

Tim *moans* -- 

"She's much less... strict about her definitions of belonging at... certain times, my fine one." 

And that was an invitation -- "What -- what times?" 

Kal smiles again. "It helps to be buried in her rectum..." 

Tim shivers and *clenches* -- 

And Kal's eyes *flare* as he growls, as he -- 

As he *thrusts* into his hand -- 

Thrusts *against* Tim's penis -- 

"Please -- please --" 

"Of course... she still gives orders at times like those..." 

"What -- I -- *really*?" 

Kal laughs and thrusts *hard* into his fist -- 

"*Nnh* -- oh, please --" 

"She orders me to take her *harder*. To *fuck* her harder." 

Tim blushes and -- 

And he can see it again, and somehow the space surrounding Kal and Barbara is small, tight, *close* -- 

Near-airless and so *humid* -- 

Dark except for Barbara's skin, her hair, Kal's teeth, Kal's *eyes* -- 

Tim's leaking so *much* -- 

"Oh... good boy. Can you hear her in your mind...?" 

"More -- I -- I see. I see you both," Tim says, and he wants to turn away, wants -- but he can't, and he shouldn't, and Kal doesn't *want* him to. Kal wants him to *speak* -- 

"*More*, beloved boy..." 

Right *now* -- "Oh. Oh. She's -- on her hands and knees --" 

"I always take her that way," Kal says, and thrusts *faster* --

Tim *whimpers*. "She -- you're -- you're making her *move* with your thrusts --" 

"Yes, that too... more." 

"And. I. She's. Her breasts..." And Tim shakes his head, because he can't quite -- "I don't know... I mean. They seem very. Large." 

Kal laughs and squeezes so -- 

Tim cries out -- 

Kal squeezes *harder* -- 

Tim arches and -- 

He can't -- 

He can't *move* or -- no, he's moving now, squirming, but he can't get away, can't *stop* Kal, and it *hurts*, and he can't thrust into that fist, so big, so hot, so *smooth* -- 

Smoother than his *own*, and he needs *friction* with pain like that, but the squeeze is so tight -- 

So -- 

Oh, he's *whining* -- 

"Perfect little animal," Kal *purrs*, and *flexes* his hand around them -- 

Tim *sobs* -- 

"She'll make that sound, too... when I take her properly." 

"Please --" 

"Shh," Kal says, and starts flexing his hand over and over again -- 

So hard -- 

So *fast*, and Tim *still* can't get friction, can't get anything but the pain that makes him leak and sob and -- 

And *whine* more -- 

But he has to be *quiet* -- 

But the whines make Kal look so *hungry* -- 

He claws at the sheets and tosses his *head* -- 

And Kal *pants* -- 

He's leaking all over them *both*, so hot, so slick --

The scent of him -- sweat and pre-ejaculate and ozone, still *ozone*, sweet and flowery and so *powerful* -- 

But nothing is as powerful as the squeezes, the *flexes* -- 

Tim can't *stop* whining -- 

"Yes -- oh, yes, like that..." 

"I'm sorry!" 

"Shh, just noise, my fine one. Be my animal now." 

Tim makes a *strangled* noise -- 

And Kal laughs and flexes his hand faster -- 

Harder -- 

*Harder* -- 

And it's not difficult to make noise, at all, to give that to Kal, to -- 

"I make her my animal, too, my fine one..." 

The scream shocks him -- 

The images -- 

The images of *her* screaming -- 

"I make her toss her beautiful bright head and *howl*," Kal says, and lets go -- 

"No --" 

"No *words*, my pet," Kal says, and *slaps* Tim's penis -- 

Tim *shouts* -- 

Bucks and twists and *shakes* -- 

It feels like his *penis* is screaming -- 

It feels like his mind is *reeling* -- because that was a punishment. That was a punishment, because he had disobeyed an order, and animals take that -- 

Slaves take that -- 

He is *owned* -- 

And when Tim can focus again -- 

When he can look *up* at Kal and *see* him -- 

Kal is panting and smiling and -- and stroking himself so *fast*. His hand is a *blur* on his penis -- 

Which is aimed at Tim's *face*. 

Tim *moans* and -- oh, but he has to apologize for his mistake! He starts to speak -- 

And Kal slaps his penis *again*, and this time Tim almost *warbles* through a yell, it -- 

Oh, it -- 

"Does it feel... mm. Your blood is *pulsing* in your veins, is it not?" And Kal is still panting, still stroking so *fast* -- 

Tim moves to *answer* -- but he doesn't speak. He doesn't -- he's not *supposed* to, so he just nods, and tries to beg with his eyes, tries to *express* with his eyes how much his penis is *throbbing* -- 

Aching -- 

Almost -- almost *singing* with the -- 

Oh, but Clark had promised him pain from the *beginning*, promised him all -- 

All the best *hurts* -- 

Tim whimpers and *arches* -- 

And Kal growls and strokes himself even *faster* -- 

The wet sounds are so -- 

They run *together*, and Tim aches so much, Tim wants to touch, to beg, to -- 

"And -- and you've learned how not to hide --" And Kal *groans* -- 

His eyes flare so bright that Tim has to *wince* -- 

"Your pain --" And the groan *becomes* a growl as Kal grabs Tim by the throat with his free hand and *lifts* him against the headboard --

"Nnk --" 

"*Take*," he says, and then his hand stills even as he begins thrusting so *powerfully* -- 

And the first *splash* of semen hits Tim's penis -- 

And so does the next -- 

And Tim *whimpers* for the heat, for the slickness -- 

And *gasps* at the *slap* of semen on his cheek -- 

His mouth -- 

His other *cheek* -- 

He shakes his head -- 

And then his eyes are closed -- how? -- but there's hardly any time to *ask* that question before he's being slapped again -- 

And then on his *chest* -- 

His *nipple* -- 

"Beautiful... precious..." And Kal growls *again* -- 

And then Tim is on his stomach and Kal is *spreading* his buttocks -- 

And the slap and *spatter* of semen on his anus is so hot, so dirty, so -- 

Suddenly, Tim can't *not* feel how wet he *still* is inside, how -- he clenches -- 

"Yes, I -- now," Kal says, and slides *in* -- 

Tim *yells* -- 

And Kal keeps pushing, keeps -- 

Oh -- he's going so *slowly*, and Tim can't take that, can't -- 

He'd started to *tighten* again, and this *hurts* -- 

He clenches and *sobs* -- 

And Kal grunts and *shoves* in -- 

Tim *screams* -- 

And Kal ejaculates *again*, so -- so hot and wet and *slick*, and his hand is on the back of Tim's neck, and his other hand is still spreading him, still -- 

His strong *fingers* -- 

And then he starts to move, to rock, to -- 

Oh, God -- 

Oh -- 

"This is the rhythm I give Barbara, precious boy," he says, and -- 

*In* --

*In* -- 

And he keeps *going*, and at first Tim *chokes* on his screams, coughs, *clenches* and screams more -- 

Gasps and yells and beats at the bed with his *fists* -- 

"Her breasts -- *nnh*. Her breasts *swing* when I do this to her..." 

Tim chokes *again* -- 

But the next thrust forces him to grunt, to cough, to cough out a *yell* as the next thrust comes -- 

And the next -- 

And the *next*, and Kal is *pressing* him into the sheets, making Tim almost -- almost *feel* his own scent -- 

His own helplessness -- 

His *need*, because there's still no friction for his penis, no way to *get* friction because Kal is holding him still -- 

Holding him in place for his penis -- 

For every *push* -- 

"Her body stretches around me," Kal growls, *pants* -- "Just like yours..." 

And Tim pictures himself wide, stretched, *ridiculous* and obscene as he *drips* -- 

"Her body *takes* me -- as I take her. Just like you." 

And Tim wonders if she salivates like he does, if she -- she *sweats* -- 

"She tells me -- mm. She screams her *pain* even as she struggles to. To ride me *faster*. Will you do the same...?" 

And Tim is fighting, trying -- 

He has to move, has to take -- 

He has to -- 

"Oh. Oh, my fine one... yes. You are the perfect boy," Kal says, and he sounds hungry, sounds proud, sounds smug, sounds *relishing*, as if he's won something in Tim, as if Tim's value is -- 

So high -- 

"She doesn't weep. She never weeps like this," Kal says, and that was a hiss, a groan -- 

Kal tightens his grip on Tim's *neck* -- 

"She never weeps like *you*. Not even when I fuck her harder *still*... and press my vibrating fingers to her clitoris and force her to orgasm after orgasm. She... mm. Not a single tear..." 

And *then* Tim realizes that there are tears mingling with the semen on his face, that he's wet, leaking again, losing -- 

Losing himself -- 

This can't be *attractive*, and he -- 

"Stay *with* me!" 

And Tim *grunts*, chokes on the swelling in his throat, on the *order* of it, the realization -- 

"Yes. Yes, beautiful... most-fine. *Weep* as I fuck you. Make me... make me *ache*," Kal says, and now the hunger in his voice is starvation -- 

And he fucks Tim *faster*, and -- not harder, but *louder*. Each thrust has a *wet* sound, loud and obscene and so -- 

So *undignified*, and that thought makes him *laugh* through his sobs -- 

Kal gasps and *flexes* inside him -- 

Tim *chokes* again, clenches and *claws* at the sheets -- 

"Oh. Oh, yes...?" And then Kal laughs breathlessly and flexes -- 

And flexes on every *backthrust* -- 

Tim can't -- 

His toes are curling and he can't speak, can't think -- but he's not supposed to do that, not -- 

He's an animal now, so it has to be right to scream, to squirm *uselessly*, to *yowl* as Kal -- makes him his. 

Every thrust. 

Every *push*, and Tim doesn't try closing his mouth anymore, doesn't -- 

Animals salivate -- no. Animals *drool*, and make messes, and leak, and cry for their masters, their owners, so beloved --

Hurt for them and beg for them and need, need so -- 

And then Kal turns Tim's head so that his *face* is pressed to the sheets -- 

So wet -- 

So dirty and *wet* and Tim is drumming his feet and whimpering, whining and aching and flexing, too, *clenching* -- 

"Come. *Now*." 

And Tim doesn't *recognize* the noise he make, so muffled and slurred and hungry, lost, *desperate* -- 

But Kal *grinds* in -- 

In and in and *in*, and Tim's so still, so *held* -- 

Kal grinds Tim's *face* into the bed -- 

And then Tim's *throat* closes with the force of his orgasm. He can't -- 

He *can't*, and it feels like his stomach is *flipping*, and his body is hot all *over*, and he's -- 

His scrotum *aches*, and it doesn't feel like he's ejaculating *anything*, but his body is *trying* to and that *hurts* -- 

So much so good so *good* -- 

And it's been so long since he'd taken a *deep* breath that black flowers start blooming at the edges of his vision almost -- 

Almost *immediately* -- 

And seem to *convulse* when his penis does -- 

*Every* time his penis does -- 

His screams are *quiet* this way -- 

And he can hear Kal's *shuddering* breaths, hear the way he's *struggling* to -- 

Oh, but what would happen if he lost *control*? 

Tim clenches *helplessly* at the thought and then can't *unclench*, can't -- 

Not immediately -- 

"Tim... you --" 

Not at *all*, because Kal is snarling, growling and *snarling* and fucking Tim faster -- 

Not harder, not harder, but it's still so much, so -- 

Tim's body tries to ejaculate *again* -- 

There's salt and semen and *blood* in his mouth -- 

He'd bitten his *lip* -- 

And howling is so much better, so much -- 

*Kal* shouts -- 

His penis *spasms* inside Tim, and it feels like it will move him, like it will change every *part* of him -- 

He must not speak he must not beg oh please oh please oh -- 

Black -- 

Black flowers and he can't -- 

And then he's gasping, turned to the side *somehow* -- 

And Kal is filling him, shouting and -- no, *speed-babbling* *loudly* and ejaculating -- 

Over and -- 

The sounds and -- oh God, how is he not *full*? 

And Tim *snorts* a laugh mid-gasp, coughs and *snickers* as he pictures himself just -- *inflated* with semen -- 

Kal *groans* -- 

Ejaculates *again* -- 

And *again* -- 

And the laughter fades in Tim's mind, *changes* to something warmer because... 

He's owned. 

And he'd pleased his owner. 

*Pleasured* his owner. 

*Again*. Tim bites his sore lip -- there's no sign of the wound; the nanites must still be working... which is something he really should've guessed for *multiple* other reasons -- 

But he makes Kal -- and Clark -- happy. 

He's -- he's *good* at this, or -- well, at some aspects of it -- 

Kal is gripping Tim's shoulders and *panting* -- 

Kal is *bracing* himself on Tim's shoulders -- 

It *hurts*, and *not* in an overtly sexual way, and that -- oh, somehow that means even more than the other sorts of pain, and -- 

Tim giggles. 

Kal hums -- or. No. 

The hum *starts* as one of Kal's, but by the time it's done, it's lighter and sweeter and -- maybe more insouciant? 

And very, very Clark. "Fine one, consider yourself released from Kal's... dictates. Tell me what's making you laugh in this moment?" The smile in his voice is so happy, so calm, so *gentle* -- 

"I --" 

And then Clark is *massaging* Tim's shoulders and -- hovering? He must be; there's no *weight* on Tim anymore, and that -- hm.

He doesn't like that. "Clark... would you lie on me?" 

"Oh -- every day possible," Clark says and *settles* on Tim like some large -- very large -- and improbably careful dog. 

Or -- some dogs are probably careful. 

Possibly *Dog* was doing everything on purpose -- 

*To* her own unknowable purposes -- 

Because she's a *familiar* -- 

Who'd had a conversation with a *goddess* -- 

About becoming the companion to a *magic-user* -- 

Who wants to be Tim's *brother* -- 

And also he's *Robin* -- 

And *Superman is in love with him*. 

And on top of him.

And *waiting* for him -- "Glik -- um." 

Clark kisses the back of Tim's head. "You seem... dazed?" 

"Ah. That can hardly be a surprise --" 

"You seem dazed for reasons that have little enough indeed to do with the large amount of anal sex you've been having," Clark says, quiet and wry and *amused*. 

Well -- there's that. Tim turns enough to rest his right cheek on the sweaty, semen-streaked pillow and smiles. "I'm... having a little reality-lag again. It will pass." 

"You might consider allowing yourself to feel... hmm... a sense of wonder." 

Tim raises an eyebrow. "Would you *enjoy* an awestruck and constantly stammering lover?" 

"Oh, I'd probably spank one mercilessly until he, she, or they wept for mercy --" 

Tim's penis spasms *painfully* -- 

"Or cuddle them. Cuddling is also something I enjoy enormously," Clark says, and his smile is sharp and happy and -- 

"You're -- I like. Um. Everything." 

Tim can see enough of Clark's face to see that he's raising *his* eyebrow. 

"I stand by that statement, Clark. Today has been... perfect," Tim says, and smiles ruefully. 

Clark smiles *gently* -- 

Sweetly -- 

*Happily* -- 

"I love you. I'm. Even if you do break up with me someday --" 

"Never." 

"-- I'll never forget this --" 

"I may, in fact, re-kidnap you --" 

"Ah." 

"It's only that *Bruce* realizes your *actual* value, beloved one. I wouldn't be able to afford his price." 

Tim opens his mouth -- and closes it. "You'd steal me." 

"I'd steal you *away*," Clark says, gently correcting. "I'd keep you all to myself where no one could ever find you again, fed and clothed and exercised in only the ways I chose..." Clark sighs with a fascinatingly dreamy *wistfulness*. "Well. Keep it in mind?" 

Tim stares. 

Clark winks. "I'm kidding." 

"I. You --" 

"Tim --" 

"Do you *want* --" 

"Shh. No," Clark says, and presses two -- somehow -- clean and sweet-smelling fingers to Tim's mouth. "I want your happiness, fine one. And I *will* have it." 

"But --" 

"Your happiness cannot be found in even the tallest, most aesthetically-pleasing, and *most* well-appointed fairy-tale tower, fine one. And so you will not go there." 

"Clark --" 

"That is an order." 

Tim flushes *hard*, but -- "Yes, Clark. I -- I want you to be happy."

"How could I be otherwise? The boy I'm in love with just tried very, very hard to *argue* himself into *imprisonment* to go along with all the slavery," Clark says, and he's amused and *pleased*, but -- 

"I *love* you --" 

"And I love you with all of myself, precious boy. I *will* keep you forever."

Tim frowns. "I. I don't think I *understand*, Clark." 

"Shh, all right. I... this," Clark says, and kisses Tim's ear before beginning to whisper softly. "In the Fortress, there is a set of manacles in just your size, fine one." 

"*Oh* --" 

"They -- and the 'chains' they are attached to -- are made of materials I had to gather from several planets outside this solar system -- the AI was quite specific about where I should look -- as well as one element which I had to leave this plane of *existence* in order to retrieve." 

"I -- what?" 

"Zatanna is a wonderful, friendly, loving, and *fun*-loving woman and a powerful and tireless ally in the never-ending battle -- and a very useful friend to have. But to continue?" 

"Oh, I -- yes. Please. I'm sorry --" 

"Shh. All of your questions are welcome, fine one. Remember that." 

"You love me," Tim says, quiet and -- and *stupid*, because Clark says it all the time, but -- 

"I love you," Clark says in return, and his voice is solemn and low and gentle and *promising*. 

Tim shivers. "Please. Please more." 

Clark kisses Tim's temple. "Once the AI had the materials it had requested, it was able to produce a substance which bears startling -- and somewhat atavistically distressing -- similarities to Plastic Man's -- his real name is Patrick O'Brian, but *everyone* calls him Eel --" 

"Ah. All right?" 

Clark kisses him again. "The material wasn't very much different from that which makes up the... well. *Stuff* of him, fine one. It *stretches* -- without losing one jot of its tensile strength --" 

"Oh -- oh, that's fascinating! That must have so many practical uses! Are you going to -- and I'm interrupting you. Ah. I'm sorry." 

Clark laughs. "All is well, fine one. We can discuss the various things the AI and I are working on for humanity -- and my schedule for *releasing* them to humanity -- *nearly* whenever you wish. But... the material is what I used for the manacles and *chains*," Clark says, and holds Tim's somewhat truncated gaze meaningfully. "Do you understand?" 

For a moment, the only things Tim understands are various things which could be done with materials which stress without losing strength -- 

Do they stand up to extremes of heat and cold? 

What about air pressure? 

Does *Plastic* Man stand up to that sort of thing? 

Does he want to know -- and then it hits. 

He and Clark had been talking about his *ownership* of Tim, and everything it could mean, and how he *did* sometimes dream of locking Tim away -- but wouldn't. 

And Tim hadn't understood how he could still be *happy*, because how *could* he if he wanted something like that but wouldn't let himself have it -- 

But. 

Tim licks his lips and *focuses* on Clark as best as he can. "The manacles are always on me. I mean -- even though they're *empty* and physically thousands of miles *away*. They're on me." 

Clark -- and Kal -- smile at him. And incline their head for a moment before looking up again. "More." 

"The manacles are on me and... and the chains stretch. To." Tim licks his lips and shivers. "The chains will stretch to anywhere I go." 

Clark sighs. "Even if you leave the planet, fine one. Even," he says, and *licks* Tim's temple, "if you leave the dimension. I will find you. If I must, I will hunt you down, using every resource at my considerable disposal. And when I find you, you will still be chained. And when you've been brought to heel, you will still be chained. And when, once I've filled my senses with you again and again and you have lost and gained consciousness many times in my arms, I set you 'free' once more? You. Will. Still. Be. Chained." 

Tim moans. "Kal..." 

"No, fine one. Only me," Clark says, and kisses Tim's cheek softly. "Though I don't blame you for making the mistake. I promise to teach you better in time. I promise... I promise you everything. And I keep my promises." 

Tim closes his eyes and just... lets himself shiver. 

For the words. 

For their absolute, believable, inarguable, and *fundamental* truth. 

For their *sweetness*. 

And... perhaps a little for how *much* he's leaking around Clark's slowly, *slowly* softening penis. That... well. Tim laughs quietly and scrubs his sticky-itchy face against the pillow. 

Clark hums. "Someone isn't thinking *entirely* of a lifetime of servitude anymore..." 

"Ah -- I'm always going to be thinking of that. No matter what else I'm thinking about," Tim says, and smiles helplessly. 

Clark kisses the back of his neck. "You live in me." 

"I --" 

"Tell me what else -- hmm. You're uncomfortable... perhaps a little embarrassed?" 

Tim blushes and smiles *wryly*. "I feel... very, very full. Like -- ah. Certain descriptions of *wineskins* come to mind." 

Clark coughs -- "I was, perhaps, a *trifle* more -- exuberant --" 

"Clark." 

Clark hums -- and hums *more* as he kisses his way down Tim's spine. "Let's -- begin to -- take care of the problem." 

"Oh." 

And then Kal laughs very, very darkly, indeed. 

And then... then Tim's eyes cross, really, but -- it's still an excellent day, and it could very well be an excellent life.

Especially once he convinces Kal to make those invisible manacles somewhat more tangible, from time to time. 

end.


End file.
